


Love's Own Crown

by afrocurl, nekosmuse



Series: The Sonnet Series [3]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Academia, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angsty Schmoop, Boys In Love, Boys having a lot of sex, Columbia University, Developing Relationship, Erik is a poet, Fluff, M/M, Multimedia Fic, New York, Past Child Abuse, Professors, Romance, Romantic Comedy, boys being dumb, happy endings, no powers, past dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 106,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to An Ideal Grace, in which Charles and Erik navigate the complexities of their new relationship while battling external forces that seem determined to keep them apart.  Fortunately they have one thing on their side: Love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> nekosmuse wrote the prose, afrocurl wrote the poetry. We rather inspired one another.
> 
> Thanks again to stlkrchck, whose insight into New York has already inspired the epilogue.
> 
> Thanks to Sam for providing very detailed notes about life in a genetics lab. That being said, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title borrowed from Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

  


_swelling heart_

_a slow rise and  
fall._

_not the dread,  
fear, loathing  
from_

_before._

_Hope  
replaced  
hatred._

_smiles  
cover  
scars._

_new light,  
new turn,  
new_

_everything._

[Erik Lehnsherr, October 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041)

~*~

 

Erik liked Dr. Frost's couch. When he and Charles got a place together, he was going to buy one just like it.

Maybe not in white, though. Red, perhaps, or maybe a nice regal purple--Charles, he thought, would probably prefer the purple. They'd have to find an apartment that was a little more modern--something newly renovated, maybe--the couch far too Avant-garde for your standard box apartment. Certainly it wouldn't fit in his current apartment, but they'd need more space anyway--there was no way they could squeeze three people into the place, not comfortably.

"Erik."

A house, maybe. Could they afford a house? Probably not in the city--though there was still the possibility that Charles had money. They hadn't talked about it, though even if he did Erik would still insist on finding something they could split down the middle. Maybe half a duplex, or the bottom floor of a brownstone. Raven had always wanted a yard. Something fenced so that she could sit outside in the sun and feel warm and safe. Maybe Erik could try his hand at growing some herbs. Gardening couldn't be any harder than cooking. Did Charles cook, he wondered.

"Erik."

Probably not, Erik realized, thinking of the barren wasteland that was Charles' kitchen. He'd eaten three bowls of cereal there--three breakfasts, he thought with a smile--each and every one stale. No, Erik would continue to do the cooking. Raven and Charles could trade off clean ups and table settings.

"Erik."

They'd have to work out a system. It probably wouldn't be much different from his current system, save that there would be three people involved instead of two. Raven would undoubtedly be thrilled by the prospect of dividing her chore list.

"Erik!"

Erik blinked, Dr. Frost coming into focus. A quick glance to his watch showed him that the session had started ten minutes ago. Where the hell had he been?

"Are you with me again?" Dr. Frost asked. Erik tried--and undoubtedly failed--to appear less flustered than he felt.

"Sorry, I was working out the logistics of living arrangements," Erik said. It sounded stupid when he said it out loud. He didn't even know if Charles wanted to live with him, never mind that they'd only technically been dating five days now.

Five lovely, perfect, incredible days that left Erik grinning whenever he reflected back on them.

"Erik?"

Erik shook himself. "Sorry." It took a good deal of effort, but he finally managed to focus his attention on Dr. Frost. She seemed more than a little concerned. It didn't surprise him when she opened the conversation.

"I've left you a handful of messages, Erik," she said, and she had, he remembered now, all cautioning him against going after Shaw, and then asking him if he'd seen Shaw, and then repeatedly asking him if he was all right. "I must say, I'm surprised to find you in so good a mood. Can you tell me what happened?"

Erik couldn't help himself; he grinned--and then grinned wider when Dr. Frost arched an eyebrow.

"Charles isn't a student," he said, as though that explained everything, except apparently it didn't, because Dr. Frost looked like she was expecting something more.

So Erik told her everything.

He told her about his confrontation with Shaw--she seemed less than impressed. He told her about learning that Charles was a professor. He told her about their new relationship, and how Charles had had to stop coming to his classes because on Monday he'd come and Erik was too distracted to teach. He told her about spending Friday, Saturday and Sunday night at Charles' place. And about how he'd spent Monday at home, feeling guilty for having abandoned Raven three nights in a row--the next morning she'd told him he was being an idiot, so he'd planned on spending Tuesday with Charles again, except Charles had had a breakthrough in his research and had ended up spending half the night in the lab. He told her how they'd tried to meet this morning for coffee and ended up making out in Erik's office instead; which had made him late for class--he would have cancelled had Charles not had to get back to the lab.

He told her in fits and starts, with a lot of prompting on her part, but he told her. When he was done, he smiled, fond and more than a little proud, expecting some sort of affirmation from her. Instead he found her frowning.

Erik's smile fell.

"You said I could date him. You said it was okay to have a crush. That it meant I was healing." And this was why he hated coming to psychiatrists, because just when he was starting to establish a rapport with one, when he was starting to feel comfortable with one--to like one--she had to prove him right; prove that every single shrink on the planet was simply waiting to rain judgement on him, like there was something horribly wrong with him when clearly--Charles was proof--there was not.

"Please relax, Erik," Dr. Frost said.

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, her version of a reassuring smile. Erik, who was midway to pushing himself off her couch, eased back down onto it--he couldn't for the life of him figure out why, when all of his instincts were telling him to leave. His body remained taut with tension.

"I am not suggesting you can't date Charles, and I'm glad you and he are working towards something. My only concern--and it is a concern for you--is the speed at which this relationship seems to be progressing."

Erik frowned, brow furrowing, but before he could ask, Dr. Frost pressed on.

"May I ask a question?" she said. Erik nodded, curious now. "How long have you known this man?"

The question gave Erik pause. It felt like it was impossible to answer. It occurred to him as he considered it that he'd only been in New York five months now. He tried to remember back to when he'd met Charles. Was it the first week of September or the second? Either way that made it at somewhere around six weeks. Six weeks was long enough, wasn't it?

Erik sounded entirely too tentative when he answered, "Six weeks."

"And how long did you know Sebastian Shaw before he initiated a sexual relationship with you?"

Erik answered that question without pause. "Three months," he said, though after he'd said it he realized what she was driving at. It may have taken Shaw three months to lure Erik into his bed, but Erik would have gone well before then. He'd fallen for Shaw almost instantly; weeks after having met the man.

It was entirely possible that Dr. Frost was right. He might be rushing things a little. Certainly his plans for that brownstone now seemed a little hurried. It was entirely possible he shouldn't be picking out furniture either. Charles might not even like leather.

"Have you considered slowing down a little, giving yourself some time to get to know Charles? It would undoubtedly benefit you both," Dr. Frost said. Erik tried not to pout--because Erik didn't pout; had never pouted in his life. It was hard not to, though; especially now that he had what he wanted--what he'd always wanted.

What he thought he'd had with Sebastian, all those years ago. He hated that the thought made Dr. Frost right.

~*~

"Out of curiosity," Moira said, scanning the requisition Charles had placed on her desk, "exactly what are you going to do with these pigs?"

Charles arched an eyebrow, because Moira shouldn't have needed to ask the question. This would hardly be the first time a geneticist had used pigs in their research. As if to stave off Charles' inevitable question, Moira shook her head.

"I mean, physically, because the animal labs are over capacity at the moment, so I'm fairly certain they don't have room for," she glanced at Charles' requisition form, "twelve pigs, and you're sure as hell not keeping them in your office."

Charles made a face at that, because, yeah, that wasn't going to happen. For the first time in years his office was clean--in hopes that Erik would stop by and then they could spend a few hours making out on his couch--so even if he did have room for twelve pigs, it was out of the question, not to mention very against the rules.

"I can find a private animal lab," he suggested, because surely the school had some room in the budget for these sorts of things. Moira frowned--it was her budget after all--but Charles was confident he could convince her. The advantage, Charles knew, of finally making some progress on his research, despite having spent the better part of the semester too distracted to do anything save the preliminaries.

"Provide me a list, along with associated costs, and we'll see," she said, which was pretty much her version of yes. Charles smiled and then leaned forward in his chair, business settled for the day.

"So?" he asked, because she'd told her parents last night--in person--and he was dying to know their reaction. He had a twenty riding on her father getting misty-eyed.

Moira let out a little huff of air, like she thought Charles impossible but liked him anyway. Charles had barely seen her all week--between Erik and his research things had been more than a little hectic--and he missed their gossiping.

"Yes, he cried," she admitted, "and then my mother promptly asked about grandkids, like we ought to get started on that even before the wedding."

Charles laughed at that. He could picture Moira with kids. She was a great adviser, and a fantastic friend, so it stood to reason she'd make a wonderful mom.

"But I can tell that's not really what you want to talk about, so go on, spill; what's he like in bed?"

Charles' smile grew more than a little soft. They hadn't had a chance to talk about this yet, save for Charles' excited phone call on Saturday morning--not five minutes after Erik had left--to let her know what had happened.

 _[He wrote poetry on my hip, Moira](http://palalife.tumblr.com/post/13308185615/the-ideal-grace-by-nekomuse-university-au-erik)_ , he'd said, still dizzy with excitement, barely able to keep his voice from cracking as he read it to her over the phone. He'd spent the entire week carefully not washing the area, but it had faded considerably--would vanish entirely before the week was out. Fortunately Charles had taken a dozen or so pictures, and then had carefully written the [poem](http://www.nekosmuse.com/cc11.html) out in the leather journal Erik had bought him--it was delightful to find some use for it.

"Enthusiastic," Charles said, answering Moira's question. It was a good starting place, because he'd never in his life met someone so thoroughly interested in him. Erik couldn't seem to stop touching--he'd grown so distracted in Monday's class they'd been forced to agree that perhaps now Charles ought to stop attending, lest Erik molest him in front of all of his students.

"That's it?" Moira asked--a fair question, except, for reasons Charles couldn't explain, he found himself reluctant to elaborate.

It was unlike him--he'd never once shied away from giving Moira blow by blow--sometimes literally--details of his sex life. Still, there was something about this that was different--or maybe it was just Erik, who seemed so intensely private, Charles loath to breach Erik's trust in any way.

Still...

"It's actually kind of odd," Charles said, and then immediately clarified, "not the sex--that's fantastic--but it's pretty much all we've done. We haven't really had a conversation, or gone anywhere, or discussed anything. I keep meaning to, but then he'll give me this look or lick his lips and the next thing I know we're having sex."

He actually got the impression that Erik was a little sex-starved. In the past five days, they'd had sex thirteen times--and Charles was keeping count.

Not that he was complaining--really not complaining--but he rather expected by now they would have maybe had dinner, or made plans to have dinner. He didn't just want a physical relationship with Erik--and he was fairly certain Erik wanted something more, too. It was just a little hard to get there when he couldn't seem to think past tearing off Erik's clothes.

Across her desk, Moira was shaking her head at him, like Charles was an idiot for worrying about something like having too much sex. Still, it stood to reason, because Charles had had a lot of sex, but he hadn't had many relationships, and he was certain--very certain--that he and Erik had a connection that went beyond the physical. He wanted something beyond the physical.

"I know," Charles said, holding up his hands.

And he did, but he also knew he was an incredibly selfish bastard, and aside from convincing Erik to fuck him--which hadn't happened yet, their encounters limited to blow jobs and hand jobs; although Erik had quickly lost his earlier hesitancy where both were concerned--Charles couldn't think of anything he wanted more.

~*~

Erik stood outside Dr. Frost's building, tucked beneath the green awning in order to avoid the late afternoon drizzle. He stared at his phone.

Was he allowed to call Charles? What exactly constituted slowing down? Did it mean not seeing Charles as often, or simply not having sex with Charles as often? It was entirely possible Erik should have asked Dr. Frost for clarification.

The thing was, he wanted to call Charles, and aside from Dr. Frost's concern that he was getting too invested too fast-- _It's normal to get swept up in a new relationship, but I think, given your history, it would be good for you to slow things down a little_ \--he could see no reason not to.

Unless she meant he was seeing him too often--although Erik didn't think such a thing existed--in which case calling was probably a bad idea. Still, she was always telling him it was his choice--his boundaries--so that meant he called the shots here, so if he wanted to call Charles he could damned well call Charles.

He called Raven instead.

"Am I moving too fast with Charles?" he asked as soon as she answered. There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"You're kidding, right?" When Erik didn't answer, she continued. "Erik, if you moved any slower, you'd be going backwards. Seriously, why are you worried about this?"

She sounded exasperated, which wasn't surprising, especially considering how frustrated she'd been with him while he still thought Charles was a student. She'd taken to beaming at him constantly since he came home on Saturday morning, offering teasing smirks whenever Erik glanced at the door or the phone or even out the window--laughing at him outright whenever he called to say he was spending the night at Charles' place.

She was also probably right. There was absolutely no reason he couldn't get swept up in this--just because, as Dr. Frost explained it, most people experienced the euphoria of dating at a far younger age didn't mean Erik couldn't experience it now. Dr. Frost had also told him that Shaw had undoubtedly stunted his emotional development. Instead of flirting and dating people his own age, he'd been sucked into an unhealthy, too mature for him relationship. It stood to reason that Erik would approach his relationship with Charles like most people approached their first relationships--and in a way, that was exactly what this was.

"Erik, are you even listening to me?"

And this, Erik suspected, was exactly why he need to stop seeing psychiatrists. When the hell had he started over-analysing every single thing that he did?

"Sorry. I just wanted to give you a head's up that I'm inviting Charles to dinner tonight. Can you make sure the house is presentable? And if you want, you can invite Azazel."

His statement was met with silence. Erik could almost see Raven smiling into her phone. Erik still cleared his throat.

"Sorry, just picturing the look on his face when he sees you cooking. I think Azazel's working tonight, but dinner sounds like fun. Do you need me to pick anything up?" she asked.

Erik shook his head, despite her not being able to see. "I'll stop on my way home."

He hung up before she could put in an order--Raven loved to send him out to pick up the most embarrassing things, the least of which were her magazines. This time he stared at his phone for all of two seconds before bringing up Charles' number.

Charles answered after two rings. He sounded a little breathless. It called to mind the ragged breath Charles had taken this morning after they pulled apart, already late for their respective obligations. He'd leaned slightly away from Erik then, saying, _If I don't leave now, I'm not going to leave_ , like Erik would have minded at all if he'd stayed.

"Erik?" Charles' voice brought him instantly back to the present.

"Hi," Erik said, feeling more than a little pathetic at having not come up with a better greeting. Still, this was what Charles did to him. It was several seconds before he could get his brain to start working again, and then he managed, "What are you doing?"

He'd started walking during his conversation with Raven, so in addition to being thoroughly damp, he was now nearing the subway station. He didn't want to lose his signal by going underground--some stations were fine, but on any given day that might change, and Erik didn't want to chance it--so he stood on the sidewalk in the drizzle, straining to hear Charles over the sound of traffic, a steady sea of pedestrians jostling him as they passed.

"I'm in the process of calling animal labs, in hopes of finding someone who can host my pigs," Charles said. A dozen questions came to mind, most revolving around what exactly Charles intended to do with pigs, but Erik couldn't seem to force any of them past his lips.

"Too busy for dinner?" Erik tried, and he would be disappointed if Charles was, but he would understand--he had to tell himself this twice before he believed it.

"Not at all," Charles said. He sounded delighted by the prospect. "Where and when?"

A woman in an overcoat knocked against Erik with her bag--a monstrosity of a thing that undoubtedly carried enough supplies to see her through World War Three. Erik shifted so that he was pressed against a building. He couldn't seem to wipe the smile from his face.

"Actually, I thought I'd cook." There was a pause--a rather long pause--during which Erik panicked and wondered if he'd made a mistake. Maybe all Charles was interested in was casual dating and sex--and God, why hadn't Erik considered that possibility sooner?

But no, that couldn't be it, because he knew Charles--better than Dr. Frost seemed to think he did, anyway--and there was no way Charles would have waited as long as he had if he'd only been interested in sex.

"Should I bring anything?" Erik instantly relaxed. There was something in Charles' voice--some hesitancy--that named Charles' pause for what it was. Erik's smile grew teeth. The space around him doubled in size, pedestrians avoiding the manic-looking man grinning into his Blackberry.

"Just yourself," Erik said. "Is seven too early?"

"Not at all," Charles said, promptly this time, and Erik was fairly certain he sounded eager. It eased the last of Erik's tension, Erik ending the call with a promise to see him tonight. He tucked his phone back into his pocket, and then descended into the subway.

~*~

Charles took a cab.

It had less to do with laziness and more to do with wanting to keep the cuffs of his jeans dry.

He'd not done this before; had dinner at a boyfriend's house--was that what Erik was now? His boyfriend?--so he had no real idea of what to wear. He'd decided on something a little bit casual, something a little bit trendy, and according to Moira--whom he'd forced to come over and help him decide--[he looked quite edible.](http://www.nekosmuse.com/edible.jpg)

 _Is this our first official date, then?_ , he'd asked, _Or does a neutral location have to be involved?_ He still didn't know, and neither had Moira, telling him only that it probably didn't matter--though Charles knew better than that; of course it mattered.

He was starting to wonder now if he was underdressed. Certainly he felt underdressed, given that Erik's building had a doorman--he'd forgotten about that.

His mother would undoubtedly be impressed.

Charles paid the cab driver and quickly exited the car, ducking through the rain and into Erik's building, the doorman holding the door open for him.

"Um, hello," Charles said, because he hadn't actually thought to ask Erik what number he was in. He only knew the building because of that time he'd shown up expecting to go to Coney Island--and learning that Erik had thought him a student put that fiasco in an entirely different light. "Sorry, do you happen to know which apartment..."

"Charles!" Charles stopped mid-sentence, turning in time to see Raven step off the elevator. She gave the doorman a friendly nod. "Erik sent me down to fetch you. I think he was just getting tired of my straightening his collar."

Charles laughed at that, mostly because he'd had to endure Moira fiddling with his hair twice before she'd let him out of the house.

"So," Raven said as soon as they were alone in the elevator. She'd turned and was standing directly before Charles, blocking the elevator doors. "This is where you get the 'hurt him and I kill you speech'," she said, which was quite possibly the most ludicrous thing Charles had ever heard--especially considering how much effort she'd put into getting them together.

"I assure you, I will do everything in my power to avoid such a thing," he still vowed, because Raven looked quite serious and he was fairly certain, in a fight, she'd come out on top.

Then again, with the exception of Hank, he suspected most people would. Even Moira--but then, she was scrappy.

Raven smiled at that, seeming completely at ease now that she had Charles' word. She turned back to face the elevator doors, just as the elevator lurched to a stop, the doors sliding open. Charles swallowed against sudden butterflies as he followed her out into the hall.

It occurred to him then--not that he hadn't considered it before--that he was about to see where Erik lived. He was about to see Erik's life in a way he'd only fantasized about. When Raven finally stopped outside a door marked 4G it was all Charles could do to wait patiently, to not push past her and rush inside.

The first thing that caught his attention when she opened the door was the scent of cooking. Some sort of roast, Charles thought, though the sweet scent of onion and garlic caught his nose as well. He stepped into a tiny foyer that opened into a large space, where an open concept kitchen and living room merged seamlessly into one another. There, standing at the stove, was Erik.  


He turned when he heard the door, and offered Charles a wide smile that grew soft around the edges when Charles returned it. Raven chuckled under her breath and then crossed to the kitchen.

"I think I can keep it from burning for five minutes if you want to do the tour," she said.

Erik looked doubtful, but when he caught Charles' eye the second time, he nodded and then handed her a wooden spoon.

"Constant stirring," he said, even as he crossed to the foyer, coming to stand directly in front of Charles. His gaze swept a line from Charles' head to his toes, Charles watching as his pupils dilated ever so slightly. He knew now what Moira had meant by edible.

"So, the tour," Charles said, though for as much as he wanted to snoop, all he really wanted at this moment was a quick tour of Erik's bedroom.

Well, maybe not a quick tour.

And this, he suspected, was why they never managed to do anything except have sex. It should probably be illegal to look as good as Erik did. For God's sake, the man was standing in his hall, barefoot, staring at Charles like he wanted to eat him.

Possibly a tour was a really, really bad idea--especially if dinner required any kind of attention.

"Hi," Erik said.

It was pretty much the last thing Charles was expecting to hear, but it also served to short-circuit his brain enough that Charles could pretty much only smile stupidly in response--which was exactly when Raven cursed, the sound of something metal hitting the floor. Erik's eyes grew wide even as he spun.

"It's fine," she said, and then, "Except, I don't think it's supposed to be turning this colour."

Erik was moving across the room even as he called over his shoulder, "Sorry, the tour will have to wait, make yourself at home," which Charles took as an invitation to snoop.

He shrugged off his jacket, hesitating for a minute before hanging it on the back of the closet doorknob. He wanted to see Erik's bedroom--really wanted to see Erik's bedroom--but instead he started in the living room, instantly spotting Raven's touch, Erik's office too Spartan for any of the knickknacks or artworks to be his. The furniture was practical, though, and very European looking. He wondered if they'd brought it with them, or had simply purchased new upon arriving. Everything, save perhaps the couch, certainly looked new.

There were no pictures, which Charles might have found odd, save he didn't keep any pictures either. Still, most women he knew did, which meant either Raven was unique--which he suspected she was--or Erik had forbidden it. He wondered if that had anything to do with his parent's deaths.

Then again, Erik didn't exactly seem like the type to keep mementos.

Actually, there weren't many personal artifacts at all. The entire house looked like something out of a magazine. There were throws that matched pillows and frames that matched the coffee table, and an assortment of candles that looked like they'd never been lit. Charles took it all in; wanting in that moment to know everything there was to know about Erik. The apartment was giving him very little in the way of clues.

He completed his circuit of the living room and headed towards the kitchen--because here, he suspected, he would learn a good deal about Erik. Raven was standing by the sink, washing something that undoubtedly was giving her trouble--judging from the scowl she wore--while Erik worked frantically at the stove, trying to salvage whatever it was that Raven had ruined. For a moment Charles merely stood on the other side of the island and watched.

"I'm sorry about this. Dinner will just be a minute," Erik said, moving gracefully between pots and pans, so completely in his element it took Charles' breath away.

"Take your time. I'm enjoying the view," Charles said, partly because it was true; mostly because he could. He watched, amused, as some of Erik's tension dissipated. Charles wasn't sure, but he thought that Erik was smiling.

The kitchen was easily the warmest, most inviting room he'd seen so far. It was filled with clutter, though neatly kept, suggesting that this was where Erik spent a good deal of his time. The glass-faced cupboards revealed more food than Charles suspected he'd bought in a year, rows upon rows of staples that Erik could undoubtedly craft into any meal imaginable. He was just contemplating a closer look when Raven appeared before him, holding a handful of plates.

"You can set the table," she said, gesturing to a tiny table in the back half of the living room. It sat under a narrow window, four chairs crowded around its base. It was already set with cloth placemats.

"Can do," Charles said, and set about completing his task.

Raven helped--a good deal in fact, Charles having no idea where to find anything--and by the time they were done Erik was announcing the serving of dinner. He shooed them over to the table, and then collected the plates--Charles frowned at that, wondering why he'd set them--bringing them back into the kitchen to serve. Charles occupied himself by uncorking the wine Raven had set on the table, filling the two glasses he'd set along with the plates.

"I'm not really a fan," Raven said when she caught him looking for a third. Charles nodded and set down the bottle. It was then that Erik reappeared, carrying two filled plates.

Charles was more than a little astounded by the meal Erik set on his placemat.

In addition to cooking, Erik was apparently also quite adept at presentation. The plate before him easily rivaled some of the best restaurants in the city. Charles waited until Erik finished serving and took his seat to make eye contact.

["This looks incredible, Erik," he said.](http://www.nekosmuse.com/dinner.jpg)

Erik blushed, but he didn't say anything, ducking his head like he wasn't used to receiving praise. Charles made certain to comment--enthusiastically and quite honestly--on the meal several times during dinner. Erik, had he wanted to, could easily have pursued a career as a chef.

Midway through the meal Charles was beginning to see the logic of having Raven join them for dinner--not that he'd minded before, Raven easily one of his favourite people after everything she'd done for him. She led most of the conversation, asking Charles about his research, his hobbies, his education. Charles was in the middle of regaling her with stories from his time at John Hopkins when he glanced over to find Erik watching him, wine glass halfway to his lips, looking completely enraptured. He realized then what a golden opportunity this was.

"But now that I've embarrassed myself by telling you my first dissection story,"--God the mess he'd made, formaldehyde and vomit everywhere--"I think it's only fair I get to hear some of Erik's stories. What was he like growing up?" Charles asked, purposely ignoring Erik in favour of meeting Raven's eye.

He was more than a little surprised when her expression dimmed.

She glanced first to Erik, as though seeking permission, but it was still Erik who answered the question.

"Raven and I didn't grow up together. Raven's my foster sister. I was eleven when she came to stay at the foster home."

And that Charles hadn't known; hadn't even considered, though it made sense, knowing that Erik's parents had died--he still remembered the break in Erik's voice when he'd told Charles. It stood to reason that he'd grown up in foster care; that he'd met Raven there--certainly it explained why they looked nothing alike.

"I couldn't have asked for a better brother," Raven said then, disrupting the awkwardness that threatened to settle around them. Charles offered her a sympathetic smile, and then turned back to Erik.

"That must have been hard, living with strangers. I'm sorry," he said, but Erik only nodded, like it wasn't a topic he felt particularly comfortable discussing. Charles immediately dropped it.

He told them instead about having always wanted a sister, and how for a while, when he was seven, one of his mother's maids had had her granddaughter come and stay with them for two weeks while her daughter was in hospital. Charles' mother had been entirely disapproving of the arrangement, but she'd allowed it, and for two glorious weeks Charles had had a playmate--a sister. He left out the part where Kurt had found them playing in Charles' mother's closet, swathed in scarves and silk, a harmless game of dress-up that had ended with the girl--Charles couldn't for the life of him remember her name--being sent home early and Charles not being able to sit for several days afterwards.

When he finished, Erik was smiling fondly, casting the occasional glance at Raven, his fondness for her readily apparent. The conversation flowed easily after that.

After dinner, Charles offered to do the washing up, only to have Raven outright refuse. She physically pushed Charles towards Erik and began clearing the plates, carrying them into the kitchen.

"It's her night," Erik said, and there was something in the way that he said it that made Charles think he meant something else entirely.

Charles couldn't for the life of him figure out what that was, so he simply stepped into Erik's space and said, "About that tour."

Erik smiled and offered Charles a hand--he still instinctively reached for Charles' uninjured one, even though tomorrow Charles would lose the splint and hopefully get some mobility back. It wasn't a surprise when Erik dragged him towards the hall that ran off the foyer. It was a surprise when he led Charles into a study rather than his bedroom.

Still, Charles wasn't going to complain, because this room at least said a lot about Erik. Erik, who had paused in the doorway, released Charles' hand so that Charles could do a circuit of the room. There were two desks--the one with the computer obviously Raven's; the only one with anything approaching clutter. Erik's desk, which sat in the middle of the room, facing out--a lot like the one in his office at the school--was cleared of everything save a small pile of textbooks--Genetics, Charles was pleased to note--and a familiar looking Moleskine.

It was the bookshelves that told the real story, though. Erik kept books in his office at the school, too, but they were all in his field--all poetry or critical analysis or paper-bound essays kept in file-folders. Here some of his personal tastes bled through.

What surprised Charles--aside from the fact that Erik kept books in at least four different languages--was the abundance of nonfiction. He had books on philosophy and psychology and history and linguistics and a dozen other subjects besides. The collection was incredibly diverse, and while Charles recognized several as likely having been course books from Erik's own education, a lot of them were newly purchased, meaning that even now Erik's interests were diverse.

He was about to ask--because it seemed a likely avenue for discussion, one Erik wouldn't shy away from--when Raven appeared in the doorway. She was holding her iPhone in her hand.

"It's quiet tonight, so Azazel was going to knock off early, leave the closing to Pyro. He wants to know if I'm free to grab coffee," she said.

Erik stared at her for a moment, and then glanced back to Charles. Charles didn't miss the sudden heat in his eyes--so much for conversation, Charles thought, more than a little giddy at the prospect.

"That's fine," Erik said, turning his attention back to Raven. Raven shot him a smirk that suggested she knew exactly what her leaving had facilitated.

"Give me at least ten minutes to get ready," she said before she brought her phone back to her ear, falling immediately back into conversation with Azazel.

Erik waited until she'd swept from the room to extend a hand.

"I haven't shown you the bedroom," he said, and if Charles leapt forward to accept Erik's hand, well, he could hardly be faulted for his eagerness.


	2. Chapter 2

what he took  
you give

what once  
hurt

brings  
satisfaction

joy  
elation.

never before  
was pleasure

that.

love mixed with  
lust.

rolled together.

in you,  
though,  
in you  
there is

so much more.

_[Getting, by Erik Lehnsherr, October 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/465176) _

~*~

 

They didn't run to Erik's bedroom--not like the few times they'd fumbled up the stairs to Charles' apartment, hands already buried inside coats, desperate to get inside and undressed. Erik pulled Charles along by his good hand, but his pace was neither hurried nor leisurely. He was a man intent on reaching a destination, but content to get there in his own time.

It gave Charles a chance to snoop a bit more, taking in the barren hall; a dark tunnel that led to nowhere, a handful of doors occupying only the one side. They passed a closed door, which Erik identified as the main bathroom--where Raven was undoubtedly getting ready for her date with Azazel. They passed another door, this one wide open, Charles startled to find a bedroom decorated entirely in lace and pastels. It looked like the room of a child on the cusp of becoming a preteen, the furniture entirely too delicate to belong inside this house, the bed littered with stuffed animals.

Charles was about to ask--because he was fairly certain Erik didn't have a child--when Erik said, "Raven's room," and tugged Charles further down the hall.

The door at the end of the hall was propped open, too--and Charles had never known anyone to keep a bedroom door open. Certainly growing up he had never left his bedroom door open--his mother would have considered such a thing incredibly uncouth. A new surge of affection blossomed in his chest as he appreciated both the open trust and the unpretentiousness apparent in Erik and Raven's home.

"And this is my room," Erik said, pausing outside the door. He gestured Charles inside.

Erik's room was exactly how Charles pictured it--save for the magenta sheets, which were as startling as they were unexpected. The room was sparsely furnished, with no personal effects, the furniture utilitarian; practical in a way Charles now associated with Erik. This room was bigger than Raven's, and had an ensuite bathroom that would be hard pressed to hold more than one person. Its walls were tiled floor to ceiling, its floor a mosaic of blue and green pieces.

Erik, who was still standing in the door, cleared his throat, and Charles realized he was waiting for something--Charles' assessment, maybe. Charles finished scanning the small pile of books on the nightstand and turned to face Erik.

"Bed looks cozy," Charles said, letting his smile shift into a smirk. It served to displace Erik's tension--and Charles still couldn't place its origin--Erik laughing as he came into the room.

"Raven's still here," he said, like that was a sticking point, and Charles nodded--because if he was honest with himself, it would be a little awkward with Raven only a few doors away.

He perched himself on the edge of Erik's bed anyway, brain stuttering as it registered that he was _in Erik's bed_ \--and if the look on Erik's face was any indication, he was just as dazed to find Charles there. Grinning, Charles crossed his legs, as though doing so might prevent him from dragging Erik down beside him--and he wanted to, oh how he wanted to. Erik's expression, which was already lost, went entirely slack, his eyes hazing over with lust, as though the sight of Charles crossing his legs was [too much for him to handle.](http://www.nekosmuse.com/cross.jpg)

Charles smirked, and then made a show of glancing around the room.

"You're a bit of a minimalist, I'm guessing," he said. It was almost comical, watching Erik process the statement. He literally shook himself out of his stupor.

"Habit, I guess," he said then, and there was likely an entire story there, but Erik didn't seem willing to share, so Charles didn't press.

Instead he leaned back onto his hands, so that he was half lounging across Erik's mattress. Erik's mouth fell open.

When he'd fantasized about this--dating Erik that was, not lounging on Erik's bed, which he'd also fantasized about; quite a bit in fact--conversation flowed readily between them. It was a surprise to find that it didn't, that Erik was so thoroughly distracting that Charles found himself incapable of thought, let alone speech. It was obvious--especially given the way Erik was looking at him--that Erik felt the same. Still, Charles had put entirely too much effort into getting to this point, and he wasn't about to let their mutual lust get in the way of initiating an actual relationship.

It still took a decided amount of effort to form his next sentence.

"So you read, you write poetry, and you run," Charles said, and that was as far as he got before he remembered back to that morning in Central Park, Erik's abs--which he'd now licked so many times he'd memorized every line--coming to the forefront of his thoughts.

It took all of Charles' willpower not to let the thought derail his plans.

"You play chess," he managed, knowing he sounded rather breathless, "which, by the way, we should play sometime. And you cook. Is there anything else I should know about, or should I content myself with you being perfect?"

And there, he'd done it. He'd initiated a conversation and they were still wearing their clothes. Charles smiled, a little smugly as he congratulated himself.

His smile lasted just until Erik stepped further into the room, coming to stand at the foot of the bed, so that Charles had to tip his head back to maintain eye contact. He glanced to the empty mattress at Charles' side, and then flushed.

"I'm hardly perfect," he said, hesitating briefly before he sat at Charles' side, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

Charles shivered. How long had Raven said? Ten minutes? Surely ten minutes had passed by now. He almost missed it when Erik started speaking again.

"I like films; foreign ones, with subtitles and actors that aren't recognizable," he said, just under his breath, as though he was half afraid Charles might laugh at him for it.

Instead, Charles offered him a broad smile. "I'm surprised you need the subtitles," he said, and when Erik frowned, added, "your books." He nodded in the direction of the study. "How many languages do you speak, anyway?"

"Not that many. Four fluently, another two well enough to get by," Erik answered, and there was absolutely nothing boasting in the comment. He was stating fact, maybe even a little embarrassed by it.

Charles found himself wondering if he could convince Erik to speak some of those languages in bed.

"Don't tell me a second language wasn't part of your boarding school education." Charles realized--at almost the same time that it occurred to him that Erik had remembered Charles had gone to boarding school, when the topic had only come up once or twice during their, for lack of a better word, courtship--that Erik was teasing him.

"We did," Charles said. "Mostly Latin, though we did study a bit of French."

Erik's eyes had gone wide upon hearing the word Latin, and Charles was half expecting him to request Charles speak it--which might not work these days, most of what Charles remembered limited to scientific applications--except it was at that moment that Raven's voice echoed from down the hall.

"You can tear each other's clothes off now," she called, and then added, "I'll be home in a few."

Charles had enough time to take two shaky breaths before he heard the front door close and lock, and then Erik was turning towards him, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Had they not already had sex thirteen times in the last five days, Charles might have whimpered.

"So, you're in my bed," Erik said, like it was something he'd thought about often--something he'd wanted for longer than he cared to admit. Charles beamed at him.

"I am. And what exactly do you plan on doing with me?" he asked, and he rather hoped the answer including fucking him into the mattress, because Erik's mattress felt nice and firm and Charles suspected it could take a good pounding.

Erik's shy smile told him that that scenario was probably out of the question.

Not that Charles minded, because sex with Erik was still sex with Erik, and no matter what it took he was willing to do it if it meant actually keeping Erik.

He didn't hesitate in reaching over, grabbing Erik by his shoulders and pulling him forward.

Erik came willingly; he always came willingly, approaching sex with Charles with complete enthusiasm, though aside from that first time, Charles tended to make the first overture--the exception being this morning in Erik's office, when Erik had reached for him before they were even in the door, laughing even as he apologized for his lips being chapped.

Erik initiated the kiss, though--and he still kissed Charles like he had that first time, drowning in Charles like he couldn't get enough. Charles had lost track of how many times they'd kissed--he'd kept count until the twenty-fifth, and then Erik had kissed him several times in succession and Charles couldn't remember if they were up to twenty-nine or thirty, so he'd simply given up trying to keep track. Still, no matter how many times Erik kissed him, Charles' toes still curled, heat pooling in his belly even as he grew dizzy from lack of oxygen.

"God, I've been thinking about this all day," Erik said as he pulled back. He said stuff like that a lot, like his every waking thought was of Charles--and Charles thrilled to hear it, because God knew he spent the better part of his day thinking about Erik. It was nice to have someone as obsessed with him as he was with them.

That sort of thing just didn't happen to Charles.

He wondered how long it would last. How many weeks or months could he get away with capturing Erik's complete attention before Erik realized Charles wasn't that great of a catch after all? He hoped by that point they'd be so entrenched in one another's lives that breaking up would be more trouble than it was worth.

"Do you want...?" Charles started, but he had to abort when Erik--who was mouthing a line down Charles' neck--reached a particularly ticklish spot near his collarbone.

Erik pulled back to look him in the eye. His pupils were blown wide. Charles couldn't seem to find the words he was looking for, so he simply jerked his head towards the top half of the mattress. Erik grinned.

He stood then, the tent in his trousers obvious. Charles stared at it for several seconds. By the time he came back to himself, Erik was already out of his shirt and reaching for his belt.

This was another thing Erik did. Unlike that first night, when he had slowly--oh so slowly--removed Charles' clothes and then his own, Erik flew out of his clothes like they had personally offended him. He still liked to undress Charles--liked to shimmy Charles' pants over his hips, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed--but he never let Charles return the favour. The one time Charles had suggested it, Erik's expression had grown dark--and this Charles suspected had something to do with Sebastian Shaw, but while he knew Shaw was Erik's ex, Erik refused--outright refused--to speak of him, so he couldn't say for certain.

Still, he hadn't asked again, and he very purposely did not undress now, instead shifting up until he was leaned against Erik's headboard--pausing only to toe off his shoes first, wondering then if he should have thought to take them off when he came in the house. The worry lasted only a moment, until the scent of Erik on the sheets distracted him. God, how could any man possibly smell so good?

When Erik--who smelled better in person than he did on the sheets--climbed into bed, he was wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, the outline of his erection straining against the cotton. Charles, who had been hard since he sat on the edge of Erik's bed, was undoubtedly making a mess of the inside of his briefs. He shifted, the seam of his jeans rubbing pleasantly against him. Erik smirked.

"A little constraining," he said, reaching for Charles, but instead of unfastening Charles' jeans, he simply traced Charles' length, Charles shivering even as he bucked.

"Do not tease," Charles warned, and it occurred to him then that he really, really shouldn't be this trigger happy anymore. There was something about Erik, though, that turned him into a perpetually horny sixteen year old boy.

Erik, who was starting to learn Charles' moods, quirked a smile, and then did it again, applying pressure with his thumb against the head of Charles' cock, Charles' jeans an impenetrable barrier between them.

"I'll take them off," Charles warned.

Erik laughed--he did that a lot in bed, too, ever since that first morning, when they'd dissolved into hysterics. He seemed surprised by the sound, but delighted too, like he'd never before had occasion to find sex fun and found now that he rather liked it.

"Pushy," he said, and reached for Charles' button.

It was a physical relief to have his jeans unfastened--even more of a relief when Erik began tugging them over Charles' hips, still taking his time, but at least now Charles had room to breathe. As Charles had predicted, a dark wet stain marred the front of his briefs. Erik eyed it appreciatively, and then licked his lips. The sight was enough to startle a moan.

How many times in the past month had he pictured this; exactly this, lying stretched across Erik's mattress while Erik stripped him. The fantasy continued from there, Erik prepping him, fingers twisting inside until Charles was thrashing and moaning, Erik's sheets twisted in his fists. He'd enter him slowly after that, pressing inside until Charles arched off the bed, Erik brushing against his prostate, his strokes slow and leisurely until he couldn't take it anymore, becoming fast and erratic then, until the entire bed shook with the force of his thrusts.

God, Charles wouldn't be able to sit for days after. Erik wasn't exactly small.

Of course, that fantasy had yet to happen. Erik finished with Charles pants and socks before reaching for the hem of Charles' t-shirt. He pulled it up, pausing when he caught sight of the faded remnants of his poem.

"I'll have to write you a new one," he said then, tracing the letters with his fingertips. Charles shivered and thought, _yes, yes, yes_.

He said, "You can write as many as you like, wherever you like," because he would gladly convert his entire body into a canvas if it meant having Erik's words written across his skin.

Erik chuckled and brought a hand back to the front of Charles' briefs, pressing two fingers into the dampness he found there.

"Even here?" he said, and Charles couldn't help it--he pictured Erik between his legs, attention riveted on Charles' cock as he wrote along its length.

"God, you're going to kill me," Charles said.

As if to punish Erik for the image, Charles took over removing his shirt--he was getting incredibly good at doing things one handed. He tossed it over Erik's head, the shirt landing somewhere beyond the foot of the bed. "Better," Charles said, and then, in a move he was more than a little proud of, he knocked Erik's arm out from under him, pulled and twisted until Erik was stretched out on top, pinning Charles into the mattress.

Erik looked more than a little startled.

Charles didn't give him a chance to protest--or even change positions--bringing his hand to Erik's spine, creeping fingertips down the line of his back until he had a hold of Erik's ass--and Erik had a phenomenal ass. He pulled, wiggling his hips so that their cocks ground against one another.

Erik moaned. Charles whimpered.

"Is there anything you want?" Charles asked once stars stopped dancing behind his eyelids. He was hoping this would be the point where Erik asked to fuck him--because Erik was made for fucking, of this Charles was certain.

Except, that didn't happen. Instead Erik tensed--though only briefly--before shifting so that his mouth was right against Charles' ear, hot breath making the small hairs on the back of Charles' neck stand on end.

The first few times they'd done this, Erik had outright refused to ask Charles' questions, saying things like, _whatever you like_ , or _whatever you're comfortable with_ , like he was half afraid anything he suggested would be shot down; like he was worried about offending Charles.

That had ended the sixth time they had sex, when Erik, seeming unaccountably nervous, had asked if Charles would mind if he played with Charles' foreskin. He'd confessed then that he'd never slept with anyone uncut before--and while Erik hadn't said, Charles got the impression that Erik hadn't slept with many people. Naturally Charles had agreed, and had then spent the next half an hour writhing in ecstasy as Erik fingered, played with, licked and sucked on Charles' foreskin.

"Anything," Charles said now, because Erik was still poised on the brink of telling him what he wanted. As if to accentuate the point, he rolled his hips, new stars bursting across his vision.

It seemed to do the trick, because Erik groaned, and then a breathless rush, said, "Your fingers, inside me."

Which was pretty much the last thing Charles was expecting, but also probably the hottest thing anyone had ever said to him, so he moaned and nodded, and then, because Erik's face was pressed into the crevice between his shoulder and his neck, said, "I can do that. Yes."

Erik shuddered against him, his hips working in frantic circles now, so Charles let the hand curled around Erik's ass cheek shift inward, until his fingers could trace the line of Erik's crack, pressing slightly in until the fabric of Erik's underwear became trapped in the crevice.

"We're going to need to change positions," Charles said then, because as lovely as it would be to finger-fuck Erik like this, he wanted to see what he was doing--maybe get a chance to involve his tongue, because he had a sneaking suspicion no one had ever rimmed Erik.

Erik, who still had his face buried in Charles' neck, and who was all but rutting into Charles, immediately stilled. After the briefest moment of hesitation he pulled back, looking a little dazed and more than a little awed when he met Charles' gaze. Charles gave his ass a squeeze and a pat, and then nudged him over. Erik immediately took the hint, rolling off Charles until he was sprawled on top of his sheets, looking as debauched as Charles had ever seen him. He was flushed scarlet, though from arousal or embarrassment, Charles couldn't say.

Either way, it was a stunning sight. Charles took a minute to memorize it.

"Lube?" he asked, not wanting to snoop through Erik's drawers--at least, not yet.

Erik looked momentarily started, and then confused, his brow furrowing even as his mouth pressed into a thin line. Charles eye's grew wide, anger coiling in his chest as he fought against the urge to say, _Who the fuck did this to you without lube?_ Charles might have been a pacifist, but he would gladly track down the bastard and kick him in the balls.

Erik, who now looked chagrined--and why he thought it was his fault was another reason Charles wanted to track this guy down--shook his head. "I don't have any. I didn't think..." he said, clearly embarrassed, but Charles wasn't about to let anything spoil the mood, so he smiled in mock exasperation.

"Lucky for you I came prepared," Charles said, pressing a brief kiss to the side of Erik's mouth before he slid off the bed.

He found his jeans pooled on the floor, where Erik had deposited them not ten minutes before. Inside his left front pocket were a condom--they probably wouldn't use--and a small packet of lubricant--not the best stuff in the world, but it would do in a pinch.

Before Erik--and Charles was quickly starting to define his life in terms of Before Erik and After Erik--Charles had liked to brag that his sexual prowess was such that he could give his partner the best orgasm of their life with one hand tied behind his back. And okay, it wasn't so much that Charles bragged, as he occasionally thought it, and then promptly flushed with shame and embarrassment because there were times--a lot of them--when even he couldn't tolerate his arrogance.

Still, he was so far doing a pretty good job, if he did say so, of keeping Erik satisfied, and at present he only had one working hand. He had a feeling this was going to prove a little more difficult, but Charles had never been one to shy away from a challenge, so he tossed the condom and lube onto the bed and crawled up until he was kneeling between Erik's legs--he'd had to spread them open himself, Erik lying tense and nervous, like he was half expecting Charles to change his mind.

Charles made eye contact, making a show of licking his lips, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smile, and Erik instantly relaxed, legs splaying a little wider. Sometime while Charles was retrieving the supplies--and he'd only been gone a few seconds--Erik had lost his underwear. Charles paused long enough to do the same, new arousal sparking through him at the thought of leaving precome on Erik's sheets.

And God, here he was fantasizing about rutting against Erik's sheets; if he kept this up Erik was going to kick him out before they even got to the sex.

Charles shook the thought away and then settled between Erik's legs, hooking his good hand under one of Erik's knees and drawing it up. Erik took the hint, bringing it to his chest, his other leg splaying wider. His flush grew more pronounced, but Charles was fairly certain Erik was enjoying being on display. There was something in his breathing, some subtle shift that suggested his arousal had amplified.

Apparently Charles wasn't the only one hiding a few kinks.

Charles grinned, and then took his time looking--and God, Erik looked so tight; so tight that for perhaps the first time in Charles' life he was struck with the almost uncontrollable urge to top. That never happened--perhaps that condom would come in handy.

But first Erik had made a request, and Charles was nothing if not a gracious lover, so he reached forward and brushed a finger against Erik's hole, watching it contract. Above him, Erik shuddered. He made absolutely no sound, but when Charles hazarded a glance up, he found Erik biting his lip; his eyes squeezed shut and his hands grasping the pillow above his head.

The sight was almost enough to send Charles over the edge. Instead he turned his attention back to Erik.

"Can I use my mouth?" he asked, the clean scent of Erik--he'd obviously showered just before Charles had come over--so intoxicating that he wanted nothing more than snake his tongue inside and lick at Erik until Erik was squirming and begging.

And apparently Charles was discovering some kinks of his own.

Erik hadn't answered, so Charles placed a thumb against Erik's hole and began making steady circles without ever breaching Erik. He glanced up only after he'd established a rhythm and found Erik staring at him, looking mildly alarmed and very, very turned on.

"Is that a yes?" Charles asked, hopeful.

Erik seemed incapable of speech.

"You don't have to decide now. We could try it, and if you don't like it, you can tell me to stop," Charles tried, because the one thing he'd discovered with Erik was that Erik was more likely to say no when asked purely out of awkward embarrassment. If Charles simply initiated something, and then asked if Erik was enjoying it, Erik responded with enthusiasm.

Erik still hadn't answered, but he inclined his head, releasing a breath as he did, head falling back against the pillow and eyes falling shut. Charles took that as permission.

He began by nuzzling the inside of Erik's thigh--which caused Erik to jump, Erik a ball of tension now, practically vibrating against the mattress. Charles chuckled and did it again, this time getting a moan for his troubles. Things were starting to look promising, so Charles traced a line up Erik's thigh with his nose, pausing occasionally to kiss the soft white of Erik's skin. All the while Erik trembled beneath him.

When he got to Erik's balls, Charles kissed them too--and they'd done this before, Erik apparently rather fond of having his testicles played with. Charles lingered only long enough to nuzzle and kiss his way past them, letting his tongue slip out when he reached Erik's perineum. Erik jumped again, his legs instinctively coming together, but Charles was ready for that, giving them a nudge so that as soon as Erik relaxed, they once again splayed wide.

When his tongue reached Erik's anus, however, Erik bucked and cursed, saying something in German that Charles wouldn't have been able to translate even if he'd tried--and now he wished he'd taken the time to learn German, because he would have given anything-- _anything_ \--to know what Erik had said.

"Fuck, Charles," Erik said when Charles pressed his tongue inside, sounding utterly wrecked, and that much at least Charles understood.

He shifted so that he could lean into Erik's leg, keeping him tethered to the mattress. Erik, who was simultaneously trying to get away from Charles' tongue and screw himself further down onto it, swore again, this time in English, _Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck_ , falling from his lips in rapid succession. Had Charles' mouth not been otherwise occupied, he might have smiled.

Which was probably why it was a surprise when Erik's next words were, "Please, stop. Stop." He sounded completely desperate, and more than a little afraid, like he half expected Charles to continue despite his protests.

Charles pulled back immediately, swallowing against the taste of Erik. "Too much?" he ventured, because it seemed likely. Erik nodded. Somewhere along the way he'd started panting. Charles paused briefly before asking, "You still want my fingers?" because he wasn't sure if Erik wanted to abort entirely--and that would be new--or if he only needed a minute.

Judging from his cock, which was hard against his stomach, the tip stained purple, his balls drawn tight, Charles suspected it was the latter.

"Okay. Okay," Erik said a few seconds later. He brought his knee back up as he spoke--it had fallen to the mattress when Charles pulled away. He was still breathing hard, but it was less panicked, more aroused.

Charles reached for the package of lube.

He applied a liberal coating to his index and middle finger, and then reached for Erik's wet and shiny hole, making a few circles with the pad of his index finger before he pressed it inside. Just the tip, holding it steady until Erik groaned, ass clenching around Charles' finger, entire body shuddering.

"More," Erik said after a moment, and Charles pushed his finger inside.

He took his time, slowly moving in and out with first one finger, then two. He paused every so often to apply more lube, wanting to stretch Erik without hurting him. Erik seemed completely lost to the sensation--he wasn't holding back his moans now, writhing on the sheets as he groaned and whimpered, a litany of words falling from his lips, only half of which Charles recognized--that one of those words was Charles' name was easily the hottest thing Charles had ever heard.

Charles' own arousal, which had abated during Erik's minor freak out, came back with renewed vengeance, and Charles thrust into Erik's mattress, hating that he didn't have the patience to focus entirely on Erik. He couldn't help it though, the sight of Erik--legs splayed wide, three of Charles' fingers now moving steadily in and out of Erik's ass--was so arousing it was a wonder Charles hadn't come yet.

And then Charles felt a hand settle in his hair--and this was one of the best parts about having sex with Erik, the reverent way in which Erik touched him, like he was half afraid Charles might shatter. Charles leaned into the touch, feeling decidedly like a cat as he pressed into Erik's palm.

Something crinkled when he did so. It took Charles several seconds to process that Erik was holding a condom; that Erik wanted him to... Oh. Oh.

And yeah, Charles could do that. Charles rather wanted to do that--maybe even really wanted to do that.

He still glanced up to make eye contact, finding Erik watching him intently, eyes wide, like he was having a hard time computing the sight of Charles between his legs. He smiled as soon as Charles met his eye, though there was something decidedly nervous in the edges of it. Charles swallowed, hooked his fingers against Erik's prostate, and then slowly withdrew his hand.

Erik groaned against the loss, eyes falling shut, the hand in Charles' hair--cradling the back of his skull now--falling away. Charles licked at his lips, and then plucked the condom from Erik's hand, using his teeth to tear into the foil.

And God, this was probably going to be really bad. There was a reason Charles didn't do this. He was too much of a selfish bastard to take the time to make this good. His own need always overwhelmed him and then he was thrusting too fast, too erratic, chasing his own completion without concern for his partner's. He didn't want to do that with Erik. He wanted to make this good for Erik.

 _Calmly, Charles. Take your time and go slow_ , he told himself, fumbling awkwardly with the condom until Erik--who had propped himself up on his elbows--took it from him and rolled it down Charles' length.

"Okay?" he asked. Charles felt a little like laughing hysterically. Instead he nodded.

"You?" The smile Erik offered him was as nervous as it was excited. For reasons Charles couldn't explain, he instantly relaxed upon seeing it.

Though not enough to keep himself from shaking, tension running through Charles as he maneuvered himself between Erik's legs. He exhaled, somewhat shakily, and then wrapped a hand around his cock and positioned it against Erik's hole.

Erik shifted against him, drawing his legs further up to give Charles better access. Charles rubbed the tip of his cock against Erik's hole, pushing in just the tip and then pulling it out, doing it again when Erik bucked against him. After the third time, he glanced up to make eye contact. Erik nodded.

Charles pushed in.

Not far, but enough that he felt immediately surrounded by Erik's heat. He'd forgotten this; forgotten how incredibly tight the human body could be. It took all of his willpower not to simply thrust in as far as he could get; to jack rabbit his hips until he was coming and coming, falling apart inside the tight, tight heat of Erik's body.

A quick glance at Erik's face showed him biting his lip, eyes fixed on the ceiling, brow furrowed as he adjusted to Charles' width--and Charles knew he was at best average sized. He relaxed in increments, though the occasional spasm ran through him, Erik clenching around Charles' cock, making Charles want to move that much more. Charles caught his own lip between his teeth, hoping the pain might distract him.

 _Steady_ , he told himself, and waited for Erik's nod to slip a little further inside.

It took the better part of minutes--though it certainly felt like hours--until he was fully seated in Erik, Erik's body clenching around him, muscles fluttering until Charles was certain he would come from the sensation alone, without ever having to move. Erik was incredibly tight, and it occurred to him then, Erik's hands coming up to scramble for purchase against Charles' shoulders, that he probably should have prepped Erik longer. Charles was half afraid he was tearing Erik apart. The sensation of it was overwhelming.

"Are you okay?" Charles managed to ask.

In response, Erik pulled Charles towards him, tangling their tongues in a messy kiss that drove Charles further into Erik's body, even as his leg came up to loop around the back of Charles' thighs. It pretty much killed the last of Charles' self-control, his hips taking on a mind of their own, stuttering and circling until he was grinding inside Erik, a messy rhythmless fucking that would probably embarrass Charles later--right now all he could think was _good_ and _brilliant_ and _Erik_.

It wasn't long before he was coming, way too soon and before Erik had, which until now hadn't happened; something Charles considered a matter of pride. He had half a second to feel guilty for it before he was lost to the white hot heat of it. He broke the kiss to moan, and then tucked his head into Erik's neck, panting against Erik's skin in an exact reversal of how they'd started tonight. It was a long while--or what felt like a long while--before Charles had the presence of mind to reach between them, to wrap his hand around Erik's cock and stroke until Erik shuddered and came--and at least that didn't take long, Erik obviously right on the edge--Erik clenching around Charles' over-sensitive cock.

The sensation was agony, but Charles waited until Erik collapsed back into the mattress, body going lax post-orgasm, before he slowly pulled out. He rolled onto his back then, and blinked up at the ceiling for several seconds before disposing of the condom became a necessity.

And possibly this was also why Charles tended not to top, because he was an incredibly lazy when it came down to it, and climbing from the bed, hunting down a waste bin--he found one in the bathroom--took far more effort than he wanted to expend at the moment. His legs were shaking as he returned to the bed, where he found Erik, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and looking more than a little dazed.

Charles smiled, and was about to make some comment, when he caught sight of Erik's eyes, wet and shiny with unshed tears. Charles' stomach immediately dropped.

"Oh, God, did I hurt you?" he asked, because the second he realized he should have prepped Erik more he should have stopped--should have pulled out and started from scratch and this is why he didn't do this.

Erik, who came back to himself then, glanced over to where Charles was standing and shook his head. He turned onto his side, wiping at his eyes with the back of his thumb.

"No, I'm good. Really good," he said, smiling then, a delighted grin that took over his entire face. When Charles made no move to climb back into the bed, he patted the space beside him, a contented laugh spilling past his lips. "Thank you," he said.

And Charles didn't know what to make of that, so he gingerly climbed into the space at Erik's side, letting Erik pull him until they were pressed together, Erik immediately nuzzling against him, and despite the threatened tears--which Charles couldn't for the life of him comprehend--Erik appeared more content than Charles had ever seen him. Charles half expected him to start purring.

He didn't, but he did sigh happily, burrowing his face into Charles' neck, as though he planned on spending the entire night that way. Charles was happy to let him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the steady in and out of Erik's breathing. It was a long time before sleep found him.

~*~

_Raven Interlude_

Raven was smiling as she let herself into the apartment. Coffee had led to dessert, which had led to a ramble through Union Square, which had led to Azazel tentatively taking her hand. Raven couldn't remember the last time she'd let anyone hold her hand.

It amazed her, really, how patient he seemed. She knew of few men who would be content with the contact she allowed, but Azazel had never once questioned it; had never once expected more than she was willing to give. She'd told Erik they were only hanging out, that they were friends, but even she was starting to see that that was no longer really the case.

The realization should have sent her into a panic attack; should have found her buried beneath her covers, arms covered with fresh cuts--that was what had happened the last time she'd thought herself ready to date. Perhaps her shrink was right; perhaps she was steadily moving forward.

Or perhaps it was just Azazel.

She'd expected to have to tiptoe into the apartment--it was well after midnight--in order to avoid waking Erik and Charles, but to her surprise she found Erik in the kitchen, glass of water in his hand. It was clear he was waiting up for her.

"Is Charles still here?" she asked, whispering in case he was. Erik nodded.

"Sound asleep. And no, I'm not waiting up for you. I only woke up a few minutes ago." He shrugged then, sipping from his glass. Raven didn't entirely believe him--he may have woken thinking he wanted a drink, but she had no doubt his subconscious was fretting over her absence.

This was evident in the fact that the t-shirt Erik was wearing wasn't his own.

But it wasn't until she got into the kitchen, the light above the stove the only light in the entire apartment that she noticed how content he looked. Not that he hadn't been ridiculously happy these last few days--happier than she'd seen him in a while, if ever--but this was different. There was something decidedly peaceful about Erik, like he'd found something he'd spent a lifetime searching for.

Raven was starting to understand what that was.

"Look at you," Raven said, smiling as she took in the soft smile tugging at Erik's lip.

"Look at you," Erik countered, and it was only then that Raven realized she, too, must have looked happy.

In response, Raven grinned at him, Erik returning it, not even protesting when she shooed him back to his bedroom. The apartment was drafty, she knew, and Charles would undoubtedly be cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macro borrowed from http://erikcharlesonabeach.tumblr.com, though I have no idea if this is where it originated. If this macro is yours, and you want credit, let me know (I'll also take it down if you'd rather I not use it).


	3. Chapter 3

large hands  
break  
bend  
grip

never nurturing,  
always punishing

leaving

damage

inside, out  
mental, physical

scares  
to imprint  
hatred  
uncertainty.

_[Hands, by Erik Lehnsherr, October 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/467728) _

~*~

Charles had a freckle on the back of his neck. No, it was larger than a freckle, though not big enough to be a mole. It was adorable, whatever it was. Erik chuckled at the thought. Had he ever found anything adorable?

The things Charles did to him.

Charles was still asleep, breath steady and even, his back a warm weight against Erik's chest. His hair tickled Erik's nose as Erik nuzzled into him, pressing his lips against the freckle. Charles sighed and shifted back in his sleep. Erik's heart lurched in his chest.

He'd known; before last night he'd known he could trust Charles with this. The few people he'd slept with after Shaw--and they were few--had been mostly anonymous, the end of single dates, the sex single-minded, driven towards a single goal, one that tended to remain outside of Erik's reach.

Shaw had only cared for one thing, and that wasn't Erik. He'd never once touched Erik with gentle hands; had never once taken the time to stretch Erik and stroke Erik, fingers twisting inside until Erik had been desperate for it. He hadn't thought it possible to hate Shaw more than he did. Apparently he was wrong.

Again, the things Charles did to him.

He'd known, somehow he'd known, that Charles would be different. Charles was Shaw's polar opposite, and exactly what Erik had wanted all those years ago. Better late than never, he supposed, letting the scent of Charles' hair fill his nose, even as he tightened the arm around Charles' waist, trapping him against Erik's chest.

He never wanted to let this man go.

And Charles was his. He'd never had anything that belonged to him, not since before his parents died. In foster care it was all hand-me-downs, things that belonged to the house, but never to him. Erik had belonged to Shaw, not the other was around. But Charles; Charles was his in a way no one else had ever been. Erik pulled Charles closer.

As though drawn from slumber by the strength of Erik's grasp, Charles mumbled into the pillow, the words lost to Erik, if they'd even been words at all. Erik chuckled again, placing a kiss at the nap of Charles' neck, just below the freckle. Charles moaned. The sound went straight to Erik's dick.

It still astounded him, how quickly he'd gone from a life of abstinence and celibacy to this. Charles had awakened something in him Erik hadn't realized existed. It was as though he was making up for all of the years of his youth, experiencing lust for the first time in his adult life.

Not that he hadn't craved sex with Shaw, but it wasn't the same. He'd craved the attention and praise; the look in Shaw's eyes when Erik was spread out before him. He still enjoyed that look, heat staining his cheeks as he recalled the way Charles had looked at him, like he was the most beautiful thing Charles had ever seen.

And this wasn't helping, because at this rate they would never get out of Erik's bed. He couldn't help but rock his hips against Charles' ass, wanting the friction.

Charles let out a breathless little sigh and pressed back. "As much as this is exactly what I want to do right now," he said, voice hoarse with sleep, "I have a midterm to proctor today."

Erik grunted at that, because midterms were something he didn't have to worry about; even if he had chosen to set one rather than require term papers, he would have forced Janos to proctor in his place.

"Can't someone cover for you?" Erik tried, because he really, really didn't want to let Charles out of this bed.

Charles laughed; a throaty chuckle that warmed Erik in ways he hadn't thought it possible to be warmed. "I'm sorry, my friend. I'm afraid that's out of the question," he said. Erik was about to concede defeat when Charles added, "I could be persuaded to stay in bed long enough for breakfast, though."

It was Erik's turn to laugh. "What do you think this is? A five star hotel?" he asked, because even if Raven permitted food outside the kitchen and dining room, he was hardly going to serve Charles breakfast in bed. Was he?

It occurred to him, even as he said it, that Charles was undoubtedly used to such things. He'd known Charles came from money--the boarding school would have given it away, even if Professor Summers hadn't said something to the same effect, never mind that Charles had an uncle advising the Queen--but last night was the first time he'd considered what that meant. Charles' story about maids-- _maids_ , not maid--told him Charles had grown up with servants. He'd never met anyone with servants. Even Shaw had only had a cleaning lady who came in once a week.

Charles, who must have sensed Erik's change in mood, sat up abruptly. "What's the matter?" he asked. Erik shook his head.

"Sorry, just thinking. You don't really want me to make you breakfast in bed, do you?" He realized then that if Charles said yes, he would. He wouldn't even question it.

Charles, who looked momentarily horrified, shook his head. "Good God, no," he said, and then, "Tell me you're not under the impression that I'm a spoiled brat."

It was the last thing Erik would have called Charles, so he shook his head, even as he tightened his grip on Charles' waist. Charles had settled back onto the bed during their conversation, so they were now lying, nose to nose.

"Hardly, but I suspect you're accustomed to a quality of life I'm not sure I can give you."

He'd gotten about halfway through the sentence before Charles was shaking his head. "I was eighteen when my mother cut me off from the family fortune. Hell, last night I ate microwaved white rice for dinner, with take-out soy packets as seasoning. I can assure you, the quality of life I'm accustomed to is pretty much on par with starving student."

Erik laughed at that, though mostly because it reminded him of how they'd met. Knowing Charles as he did now, it was hard to imagine ever thinking Charles was a student.

He wanted to ask why Charles' mother had cut him off, because Charles' eyes had dimmed when he said it, like the episode had been particularly painful, and Erik didn't like the idea of anyone hurting his Charles. He didn't get the chance, though, because that was precisely when Charles announced that they really needed to get moving.

Erik agreed, albeit reluctantly, but he still insisted on sending Charles off with a belly full of coffee and omelet.

"What time is your appointment?" he asked sometime later, as they stood in the foyer, Charles shrugging into his coat. As if to emphasize the question, Charles' splint got caught in his sleeve. He cursed and tried to shake it free, failing miserably. Erik shook his head as he reached towards the offending garment.

"Four-thirty," Charles said, letting Erik reach up his sleeve and slowly guide his hand through.

"I can meet you there if you like. We could grab dinner."

He glanced up then, having freed Charles' hand, and found Charles smiling at him.

"Dinner sounds good," he said. It occurred to Erik that this was likely what Dr. Frost meant when she told him to slow down, to take his time getting to know Charles.

It might have been easier if she'd simply told him to date Charles.

They lingered through their goodbye, Erik getting in a handful of kisses that quickly threatened to turn heated before Charles pushed away, lips swollen and hair tussled.

"I really have to," he said, gesturing to the door. Erik forced himself to step back; to let Charles leave. It was a mark of his self-restraint that he didn't offer to walk Charles to the lobby--hell; it was a mark of his self-restraint that he didn't offer to walk Charles to the nearest subway station, or even home for that matter.

He didn't have much on the plate today, so after Charles had left--and Erik had lingered on the other side of the door, half hoping Charles had forgotten something, that he would be forced to come back and maybe then Erik could persuade him to skip proctoring that midterm--Erik went to see about getting showered and dressed; also, his sheets were in desperate need of changing. By the time he was done, Raven was just getting up, looking more than just a little rumpled.

"I'm surprised you let him leave," she said, meaning she had undoubtedly been awake and listening to their exchange by the door. Erik gave her a mock glare, which faded instantly when he took in the bags under her eyes.

"You didn't sleep," he said, because it was clear now that she hadn't. After their talk last night, he'd had no cause for alarm; hadn't even considered that anything might be bothering her.

Raven shook her head. "I did, just not well," she said, shrugging.

Erik approached her cautiously, not certain if this was something that warranted physical contact. He waited until she'd inclined her head to place a hand on her shoulder. She leaned into the contact.

"What happened?" he asked, because he hadn't asked last night--he should have asked last night--assuming from her mood that everything was fine.

"I'm fine, really," she said. She smiled then, something of last night's happiness bleeding into the gesture. Erik felt some of his tension drain. He didn't remove his hand. Raven rolled her eyes. "He held my hand, okay," she said, like that explained everything.

Erik supposed that it did. He offered her a soft, reassuring smile. She huffed out a laugh, even as she pulled back, knocking the back of her hand against his stomach.

"Did I miss breakfast?" she asked, moving towards the kitchen.

Erik chuckled, following at her heel. "What do you want?" he asked, already rooting through the fridge. With nothing on the go that morning, save perhaps a few personal errands he wanted to run later, he could take the time to make Raven breakfast.

~*~

_Moira Interlude_

She'd been engaged less than a week and already her mother had planned the wedding, the honeymoon, their first home purchase, and the birth of their son--never mind that Moira wasn't even pregnant, nor could she predetermine the gender of her child prior to conception, genetics degree or no genetics degree.

It was starting to drive her a little insane.

Almost as insane as Charles was driving her, Moira thought, glancing at the latest document to show up as a [shared Google Doc](http://www.nekosmuse.com/OGET.pdf). She added a note to Charles' latest 'worksheet', saved it, and then realized the warning was probably better repeated in person.

She'd really been hoping they were past all this; hoped that Charles would settle down and stop acting like a teenager with a crush now that he was actually sleeping with Erik. She obviously should have known better.

She remembered what he was like with Scott. She and Charles hadn't been friends at that point--though only because she was technically his adviser and she was trying to avoid a conflict of interest--but they were close enough that she'd spent the better part of months listening to Charles obsess over Scott; watching Charles practically stalk the man until, reluctantly, Scott had agreed to a date.

Granted, this was a little different. Charles had matured considerably in the last few years, and he seemed to genuinely care about Erik, so it boded well for the long-term survival of their relationship. He was still playing games, though; still scheming when what he needed to be was open and honest. He was going to scare Erik off if he wasn't careful, and Moira didn't particularly want to deal with that fallout, so she was going to do everything in her power to ensure that didn't happen.

Charles' door was ajar when she arrived at his office, Charles seated behind his desk, iPhone pressed to his ear. She paused outside the door, but when he saw her he waved her in, so Moira stepped inside.

"Yes, I realize that," Charles was saying into his phone. "But I assure you, this is your delivery person's problem." There was a pause, and then, "No, of course I'm certain I have the address right." And then, "Well, read it back to me."

At Charles' gesture, Moira claimed a seat on Charles' couch, crossing her legs as she waited. Charles was nodding.

"That's the right address." Without hearing the other end of the conversation, Moira had no idea what Charles was talking about. "I can assure you it wasn't refused. At the very least one of the staff would have signed for it."

Charles glanced up and gave Moira an apologetic smile. Moira nodded her understanding.

"Of course I want you to try again," Charles said. He sounded exasperated. "I don't see why I should have to pay two delivery charges when it's your mistake."

Moira began picking at a hangnail. She'd have to get her nails done before the wedding. She'd probably need a full manicure and pedicure while she was at it.

And now that she thought about it, the more she realized just how much work planning this wedding was going to be. Perhaps she should let her mother plan it after all.

"No, that's fine. Just charge the card you have on file." Moira tuned back in to Charles' conversation, just in time to hear him exchange several not-so-pleasant pleasantries before he disconnected the call. He tossed his iPhone down onto the desk. It landed with a thud.

"Dare I ask what you're having delivered?" Moira asked.

Charles huffed a laugh. "Flowers, actually."

For the first time in perhaps their entire acquaintance-slash-friendship, Moira was stunned into silence. It lasted only a second. "You're sending Erik flowers?" she asked, because that seemed elaborate, even for Charles.

Charles glanced up, startled. "No." He shook his head. "I'm trying to send my mother flowers, for her birthday, but apparently someone at the house refused delivery."

Moira shook her head at that, even as she breathed a sigh of relief. Still, it was something she could see Sharon doing. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Sharon would accept the flowers, sniff her nose up in the air, and then request one of the lower humans--aka the staff--dispose of the offending things immediately.

"I have no idea why you even bother remembering that woman's birthday, let alone send her anything," she said. She and Sharon did not get on.

"I remember her birthday because it comes just after Kurt's, so when she calls to remind me about Kurt's, I make a note in my calendar that hers is coming up. I have no idea why I send her anything." Charles lifted a shoulder, the most half-hearted shrug Moira had ever seen.

She knew, though, why he sent her flowers. He was still labouring under the delusion that one day Sharon would wake up and discover that a) she had a son and b) she loved him. Moira could have told him it would never happen, but she didn't particularly like seeing Charles cry, so she kept her mouth shut.

Instead she asked, "How did this morning's midterm go?" It seemed a safe avenue for conversation, and might make a good segue into what she really wanted to talk to him about. Charles tended to dismiss practical advice if he hadn't directly asked for it.

She had no intention of leaving this office before she set him straight on Erik.

~*~

Erik stood in the drug store and scanned the lines of condoms filling the shelf. There were far too many brands for this to be an easy decision. What brand had Charles used?

He tried to recall, but he hadn't really been paying close enough attention to remember what they'd looked like, let alone what they were called. This was probably why he didn't tend to make these decisions, but last night had come damned close to being a complete disaster and all because Erik hadn't thought to stock his house with condoms and lubricant.

It wasn't that he wasn't familiar with both. Condoms were make or break with him--had been ever since he'd told a shrink that Shaw hadn't believed in them. She'd told him that he'd needed to get himself tested for STDs. The entire incident had been so thoroughly distressing that he'd gone the next day, having the clinic test him for every STD known to man, including a few they hadn't heard of until Erik had handed over the relevant books he'd taken out from the library. After getting a clean bill of health, he vowed never to have unprotected sex again.

The two people he'd had penetrative sex with since had undoubtedly used lubricant, but Erik hadn't insisted--hadn't really considered it--the act over so quickly that Erik hadn't thought the experience worth remembering, let alone questioning. It occurred to him now that he probably should have been paying closer attention.

He settled on the plainest box of condoms he could find. Thin, regular sized, non-lubricated--because he was buying that separately--with no bells and whistles; no ribs or flavours or warming involved. Plain and simple.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for lubricant.

There was half a shelf devoted to the stuff, all of it garishly splashed with labels and claims. Erik stared at the space where they sat--tubes and bottles and jars--and tried to recall if any of them came close to resembling what Charles had used.

God, why hadn't he paid attention?

It occurred to him then that he'd been standing in the condom aisle contemplating his purchase for the better part of fifteen minutes now. This, he suspected, was bordering on ridiculous. It was almost a shame he still couldn't seem to make a decision.

It was then that a man--a young guy in his early twenties, about as old as Erik had first thought Charles before Charles told him, with a startled laugh, that actually he was turning thirty in January--brushed past Erik to grab a package of condoms off the shelf.

They weren't the brand Erik was holding, though they seemed similarly structured. Erik began to reconsider his choice.

The man--boy, really--gave Erik an appraising look and a smile.

Erik scowled.

The boy immediately raised his hands. "Sorry man," he said, as though trying to poach what was rightfully Charles' was something that Erik could forgive.

The boy didn't wait for a response, beating a hasty retreat. He was halfway back up the aisle before it occurred to Erik that a) the boy was clearly gay and b) he hadn't hesitated for even a second before selecting his condoms.

"Wait!" Erik called, because it was either this or call Charles, and the thought of calling Charles, while pleasant in that he'd get to talk to Charles, was mortifying. Also, he suspected Charles would kill him if he called during Charles' midterm to talk about lube.

The boy paused, turning to glance over his shoulder. Erik offered what he hoped was an apologetic smile. He was fairly certain he probably just looked constipated. It was somewhat of a marvel that the boy turned and returned to Erik's side. He offered a shy smile. Erik shook his head.

"Look, I'm seeing someone, and it's serious, so I'm not interested, but I could use your help." It killed him to say it, it really did, and the only reason he did was because he would undoubtedly never, ever see this kid again.

The boy arched an eyebrow. Erik stole his courage.

"Lubricant recommendations," he said, feeling heat creep into his cheeks. The boy's second eyebrow lifted to reach the first.

There were times when Erik genuinely hated people. This was one of those times.

Especially when the boy's expression turned appraising. "I don't know who converted you, but I'd sure like to meet him," he said, and Erik immediately felt his hackles rise.

"He's spoken for," Erik said, voice a low growl. This kid had some nerve. Erik was half tempted to grab him by the back of the neck and drive his forehead into the metal shelving. Instead he let the boy raise his hands again, an appeasing gesture that did nothing to ease Erik's irritation.

"Sorry," the boy said, "just, you know; kudos to him. But seriously, you don't want to buy anything here."

Erik frowned, watching as the boy reached into a back pocket and withdrew his wallet. He fumbled with it for a minute, and then pulled out a business card.

"A friend of mine owns this place," he said, handing over a card for something called [The Pleasure Chest](http://www.thepleasurechest.com).

 _Great_ , Erik thought, _he's sending me to some perverted sex shop_.

"It's actually a really respectable place, emphasis on education. They can help you out. They have a fantastic selection. The place is on 7th Avenue, just off Charles Street."

Erik's brain stuttered to a halt. There was a Charles Street in New York? Suddenly meeting this man seemed more than a little predetermined. He accepted the card.

The kid, who obviously realized Erik wasn't going to say anything else, gave a brief nod and left. Erik waited until he was around the corner to return the box of condoms he was holding to its place on the shelf. He grabbed a box of the brand the kid was buying, tucked the kid's card into his coat pocket, and then headed to the front counter. At the very least he could check condoms off his list.

[Charles Street](http://www.nekosmuse.com/charlesstsign.jpg), he discovered sometime later, did exist. It was in the West Village, and was so Charles Erik found himself grinning stupidly as he walked down the sidewalk. His fellow pedestrians began giving him a wide berth.

Charles Street was a narrow street, tree lined, with [rows upon rows of brownstones](http://www.nekosmuse.com/charlesst.jpg); a quiet little corner of the city that Erik instantly fell in love with. There were even a few rainbow flags around--not that Erik had ever cared about that, but he also didn't want to live somewhere where he wasn't wanted.

He was pulling out his Blackberry before he registered what he was doing.

"Did you know there's a Charles Street in the city?" he asked as soon as Charles answered the phone.

There was a pause on the other side of the line. It was only then that Erik thought to check his watch, but Charles' midterm should have ended half an hour ago, so he was safe.

"Did you just call me because you're on Charles Street and it reminded you of me?" Charles asked. He sounded particularly giddy. Erik's grin grew.

"I suppose I did," he said. It probably shouldn't have surprised him; everything seemed to remind Erik of Charles these days. When Charles didn't answer, he added, "It's a nice street. I bet there are some nice apartments around."

Now Charles chuckled. "I'm sure there are. I'm not sure any of them are particularly affordable, but it is a very nice neighbourhood."

Erik hesitated, because surely they could afford a place together. It couldn't be that expensive. Plus Raven had started contributing to the rent now that her job was bringing in some money--Erik hadn't wanted the money, but she'd insisted, so he'd started putting it aside so that he could buy her something nice, or maybe take her to one of those Broadway shows she was always talking about.

It occurred to him then that maybe Charles had said it because he didn't want to get a place with Erik. Maybe he had no interest in living with Erik. The thought made his stomach sink, Erik swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. He'd respect Charles' wishes, of course, but the last thing he wanted to do was wait around for Charles to ask him--he'd done enough of that with Shaw, and look where that had gotten him.

"What are you doing down there, anyway?" Charles was saying, Erik realizing that he'd missed everything Charles had said in between. It was entirely possible Charles _had_ asked him, and Erik had missed it.

"Sorry, what?" Erik said, because maybe then Charles would ask again.

"It just seems a little out of your way, but it's really none of my business, so..."

Erik froze, because now that he knew what Charles was asking him, Erik had no idea how to answer. He suspected, _I'm shopping for lube_ would only make Charles laugh at him.

"I just had some errands to run," he decided on saying, hoping it was enough, but Charles' response was lost to the sudden sound of metal scrapping against metal, the violence of it so startling Erik's hand fell to his side, Blackberry dangling uselessly at his hip as he turned to stare back towards 7th Avenue.

Some idiot had run a red, clipping the back end of a sleek back sedan, sending it spinning. It didn't look like anyone was hurt, but the damage looked expensive, far worse than a mere fender-bender. The sight was riveting, Erik memorized by it.

Someone's window had broken, pebble-sized pieces of glass littering the pavement. Other people were honking now, the sound tinny and distant, as though Erik was watching it through a bad-quality television set, as seen from across a crowded room. There was steam coming out from under the hood of the black sedan, but it wasn't smoke--not a fire risk then--only what tended to happen when liquid sploshed against a hot engine.

Erik doubted the sedan was even driveable anymore. Certainly one of its wheels, where it had hit the curb, was twisted awkwardly. Erik shivered, feeling suddenly cold; a deep, penetrating chill that seeped directly into his bones. He'd been outside in the cold too long, he thought absently, already stepping towards the wreckage, time slowing to a crawl.

He made it all the way to the corner before the world lurched into motion again. The blare of honking horns became obnoxiously loud. Erik registered that he was still holding his phone. He stared at it, unblinking, and then brought it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Erik? Erik!" Charles sounded more than a little panicked. Erik blinked. The man in the sedan had gotten out of his car and was shouting at the little yellow sports car who'd clipped him.

"Sorry," Erik said, the sound of his voice echoing in his ears. "There was an accident."

"Are you all right?" Charles said. He sounded terrified. Erik shook his head. He felt oddly foggy.

"I'm fine. I wasn't involved. I just witnessed it."

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Erik, you were gone for like two minutes," Charles said. Erik frowned at that, because surely it was only a few seconds; long enough for him to turn and walk towards the intersection. Undoubtedly it had only seemed longer to Charles.

"I'm fine. I actually just have the one errand to run, and then I'm heading your way. You'll wait for me to get there?"

"Of course," Charles said, but he didn't sound particularly appeased. Erik would have to make it up to him with a nice dinner.

He told Charles as much, earning a brief laugh before they exchanged their goodbyes--Charles reluctantly, Erik with an odd sense of determination. He couldn't seem to draw his gaze from the scene before him, the sedan driver and the sports car driver on the verge of coming to blows.

He thought perhaps he ought to stay and give a statement.

Someone jostled him, and it was then that he realized he'd simply been standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the mess of metal and glass sprawled across the intersection. The yellow car, he thought, looked like something he might have found in a contortion act. The twist of its fender triggered the briefest surge of deja-vu, and then it was gone, Erik glancing up to find the name of the place he was looking for.

Erik patted his pocket, found his phone, and wondered when he'd finished speaking to Charles. The flashing lights of the newly arrived NYPD cruiser distracted him from the thought otherwise he might have brought the phone out and called Charles back. Instead, Erik crossed the street in the opposite direction from the crash, and headed towards The Pleasure Chest.

He'd been inside one of these places before--not with Shaw, though it wouldn't have surprised him, Shaw delighting in seeing him flushed with awkward embarrassment. When they were living in Edinburgh, someone Raven had met had given her a business card with an innocuously named business and an address, promising her a job if she dropped off a CV. Erik had gone without her to scope the place out, walking into a store filled with silicone and latex. Erik had immediately turned around, telling Raven to find a job elsewhere. She'd ended up finding work in a local florist shop. Back then, their tiny apartment had been filled with plants and flowers, the scent overwhelmingly sweet. Erik had spent a lot of his time in Edinburgh sneezing.

This place seemed a good deal more upscale, the place clean, well lit, and decidedly well organized. Erik still found himself standing stock-still the second he set foot in the door. It was almost overwhelming, the range of merchandise available. Erik wasn't sure where to start.

His uncertainty must have shown, because a second later a tall, well dressed brunette came over to stand at his side.

"Is there anything I can help with," she said, voice whisper-soft, as though she recognized Erik's type and knew speaking too loudly might startle him and send him running.

Erik glanced at her, finding his attention draw to the dragonfly barrette clipped in her hair. It was the same colour of blue as Charles' eyes.

"Lube," Erik blurted out, the word jumping past his lips without his permission. He watched the girl's eyes grow wide--recognized her amusement--and cleared his throat. "Sorry, I'm looking for lubrication."

The girl nodded.

"Male or female?" she asked. Erik felt some of his nervousness lessen.

"Male."

"Anal, I'm assuming? Condoms or bareback?" The girl didn't even flinch as she asked the questions.

"Yes, and condoms."

The girl inclined her head. Erik followed her to the back of the store, where a line of lubricants filled several shelves. They easily had ten times the selection the drug store had, and none of the same brands. The girl pulled down several labelled _tester_ , and gestured for Erik's hand. Erik coloured, but extending his palm, thankful that, for now at least, the store was empty.

The things he did for Charles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to stlkrchck for both the New York details and the photographs used in this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

hold tight  
fingers

closer still

never leaving  
always having

though new,  
unexpected

this feeling

lingers,  
haunts,  
remains.

like you.

_[Grip, by Erik Lehnsherr, October, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/470297) _

~*~

_Raven Interlude_

There was something about the bustle of New York City that made Raven feel utterly isolated. Tens of thousands of people, in this block alone, moving with purpose, going to and from their jobs, or taking their kids to schools, or doing their grocery shopping or picking up their dry cleaning; it was all so perfectly ordinary.

Raven had never felt particularly ordinary.

She'd told Erik that once, and he'd told her it was because she was extraordinary. Until recently, she'd suspected he was the only person capable of seeing her in that light.

It was strange to have that change.

Raven didn't tend to react well to change. She told herself that this change was good; that they had spent so long locked in the same pattern that it was about time they moved forward, sought the happiness that she knew Erik deserved, and suspected she was capable of finding.

Across the street, a well-dressed woman was pushing a pram. Raven watched her for a moment, noting the way she angled her body so that she was closer to the traffic, a barrier between her child and any cars that might skirt the curb. Would that be Raven someday? She couldn't picture it; couldn't conceive taking care of a child, children so utterly fragile and she so utterly damaged. Would Azazel want children, she wondered.

The thought made her panic, though only a little. It was a familiar feeling now. She'd been dealing with it ever since she'd realized exactly where she and Azazel were headed.

She wished she was more like Erik. He'd fallen so utterly for Charles, without hesitation. She wanted that; to be able to give in to the fluttering in her stomach that came every time she thought of seeing Azazel.

Something to discuss at her next shrink appointment, she figured, tearing her gaze from the woman and her baby. Raven continued her wandering, having no particular aim today; only wanting to be outside, to enjoy the faint October sunshine, appreciate a city poised on the brink between seasons. The nights were getting increasingly cold and dark. She wondered if they'd get a white Christmas. She couldn't remember ever having one.

The thought made her feel festive, though Erik would undoubtedly scold her if he came home and found she'd brought out all of her decorations. He didn't celebrate with her--had no concept of the holiday--but he indulged her obsession with it, so long as she kept it to the month of December. She still remembered that first year in that basement apartment, when he'd brought her home a miniature tree, artificial, and a box of silver-blue decorations. She still had them; still put them on the tiny tree every year. She'd woken up that first Christmas morning to find he'd bought and wrapped half a dozen gifts labelled with her name.

It had marked the first true Christmas she'd had since her Oma had died, leaving her a ward of the state. The foster home didn't believe in celebrating holidays of any sort. They cost too much money, Mrs. Eisenhardt used to say. Raven had disliked her more than she disliked her husband, and all things considered, that was saying a lot.

The surrounding store fronts were decorated for Halloween, though, not Christmas, and while Raven knew what the holiday was, it wasn't exactly popular during her childhood. That came in later years, after the reunification, when American television became increasingly popular across the country. She'd attended a Halloween party, once, but the experience had been terrifying and she never wanted to attend another. She couldn't conceive how anyone would want to celebrate a holiday that involved shadowed figures wearing masks. She'd already told Azazel she couldn't work that night; that she intended to spend it locked inside her apartment.

In addition to being a good man, he was also an understanding boss.

Her stroll had brought her west of Union Square, Raven hesitating then, her forward march becoming a leisurely stroll. She knew the neighbourhood well by this point, walked it at least once a day. One of these days she would expand out, explore parts of the city away from where she lived. Perhaps she'd head north and explore the area around Columbia. It was where they should have lived--it was only a fluke, Raven's confusion over where Erik would be teaching, that had her renting an apartment near NYU rather than Columbia.

She paused at the next set of lights, debating where she ought to go. She refused to take the subway. She hated being underground with so many people, but she might be able to manage a bus, especially this time of day, when the morning commute was over and the evening commute had yet to begin. Part of her wanted to call Azazel, to see what he was up to, but she suspected she wasn't quite ready for that yet. Another part of her wanted to call her shrink, to see if she couldn't get an extra appointment this week.

It was while she was debating this that someone jostled her from behind, the unwelcome--and unanticipated--contact instantly filling her with tension. She shifted towards the curb side of the sidewalk, so that she was pressed against a lamppost, as far from the passing pedestrians as she could manage without stepping out into traffic. Doing so brought her face to face with a flyer taped to the post, Raven doing a double-take as she took in what it said.

[   
](http://nekosmuse.com/mud.jpg)

She glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder, but no one was paying her any attention, so she reached up and tore the advertisement down, folding it nearly and stuffing it into her coat pocket. She'd been thinking about going to school, and while this wasn't exactly a college degree, she suspected it might actually be something she would enjoy. Besides, it would get her a step closer to Broadway.

It was probably the flyer and the idea behind it that made her take notice of the salon across the street. She passed dozens during her daily walks, but for some reason this one, as unassuming as it was, drew her attention. Maybe that was exactly what she needed. Not just a change in her personal life, or her professional life, but a physical change as well. She pushed her way into the stream of pedestrians, not minding the contact now that she was expecting it, and crossed to the stand in front of the salon.

It wasn't busy, and from what Raven could see through the tiny front window, the staff were entirely female, so she made her way inside, instantly earning the attention of the red-head behind the counter.

"I don't have an appointment," she said, but the girl only smiled, telling Raven that if she wanted to take a seat, someone could squeeze her in between appointments.

Raven took a seat.

~*~

He suspected Erik was right; Charles really should start making use of his TA. Not an easy thing to do; Charles hated delegating. At the very least, though, he supposed he could hand off the marking of his midterms.

For now that stack of midterms was sitting on his desk, waiting to be marked, and while normally he'd hold off until the weekend, he suspected Hank wanted his time, which meant it was now or never. He probably wouldn't even get through a quarter of them before his appointment. He was definitely looking forward to getting this damned splint off his hand. Marking left handed was next to impossible, Charles' notes a scrawl of illegibility.

Across his desk, tucked out of sight--mostly so that Charles wouldn't be distracted by it--his iPhone sang. Thinking it was probably Erik--and he was still worried about the oddness of their last conversation--Charles immediately reached for it, midterms forgotten.

"Tell me you're on your way," Charles said, partly because it was close to his scheduled appointment, but also because he was dying for an excuse to get out from under all these papers.

There was only one problem. It wasn't Erik. Charles probably should have thought to check the call display before answering.

"Mr. Xavier, it's [Forever in Bloom](http://www.foreverinbloomonline.com)." Charles frowned. He thought he'd sorted this already.

"Yes," he still said, thinking perhaps they were simply calling to confirm delivery--it was the least they could do after this morning's fiasco.

The woman on the other end of the line paused. "I'm afraid delivery was once again refused," she eventually said.

Charles froze, mouth open, uncertain what to say.

It was, he supposed, entirely possible his mother and Kurt were away--they travelled often--and that some new servant who didn't know Charles had been instructed not to accept deliveries.

"Sir, do you want us to try again?" Charles shook his head before remembering the woman couldn't see him.

"No, that's fine," he said, disconnecting the call before she could remind him that he would be charged for both the flowers and the two delivery attempts regardless.

It was also possible, he supposed, that his mother had simply gotten sick of receiving flowers, and that this was her subtle way--subtle as a dump truck driving through a C4 factory--of telling him to stop. Charles should probably just take the hint and save his money.

Instead he picked up his iPhone--he hated using it, not particularly wanting her to have the number--and dialed his mother's cell.

After six rings, it went to voice mail.

"Hello mother," he began, and then, because she probably wouldn't know said, "It's Charles. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday."

There really wasn't much else to say--and God knew she'd never called him on his birthday--so Charles hung up and tossed his phone over to his couch, where he'd be less likely to dive for it should it ring again. He turned back to the midterm spread before him, trying to decide whether to give partial credit for Bobby Drake's answer.

He'd picked his way through four midterms before there was a knock on his door. The sound was startling, because he usually left his door open--and today was no exception--so visitors didn't tend to knock. It was a pleasant surprise to glance up and find Erik standing in the doorway, soft smile creeping onto his face.

"Erik," Charles said, abandoning his red pen in favour of standing and crossing the room to Erik's side.

Erik immediately swept him into a kiss. Anything that Charles was going to ask about their earlier conversation vanished from his thoughts.

"Hi," Charles said when they pulled back. It was pretty much all his brain was capable of thinking at the moment. Erik's smile shifted into a grin.

"Hi, yourself," he said.

Charles smiled stupidly and took a moment to appreciate Erik standing in the doorway of his office, still wearing his coat, looking wind-kissed, his nose a startling shade of red.

He couldn't count the number of times he'd fantasized about having Erik here.

"Come in for a minute," he said when he'd gathered his senses. He moved back to his desk, giving Erik a chance to snoop--at least he hoped Erik would snoop--while he tidied up the pile of exams on his desk.

It was while he was doing this, Erik examining the row of books on Charles' bookshelf, that Moira popped her head in. She seemed started to find Erik there, flushing slightly as though she'd interrupted an intimate moment. Given that they were standing half a room apart and were still wearing their clothes, Charles had a hard time understanding where her embarrassment had come from. He hadn't even had the time to drop one of his papers and bend down to pick it up--which had been exactly his plan, delayed now by Moira's arrival.

"Sorry," she said, offering Erik a friendly nod.

Charles realized then that they'd only met the once before, so he re-did introductions.

"Erik, you remember Moira, and Moira, Erik." They exchanged friendly smiles. Charles hesitated, uncertain how best to proceed in these sorts of situations. It hadn't occurred to him that his boyfriend--and okay, they hadn't officially used that term, but unless Erik said otherwise, Charles was using it--and his best friend might not instantly take to one another.

Fortunately Moira saved him the trouble, giving him her full attention, obviously there on business. "I just wanted to let you know I pulled some strings and got you space in the Animal Lab. You can have your pigs delivered tomorrow."

Charles beamed, offering a wide smile, because all of the private labs he'd found would have required him to take a bus to get to them--it was either that or farm out his experiments, and Charles had never been very good at delegating anything. This way he'd simply have to walk over to the Live Animal Research section to do what he needed to do.

"That's brilliant, Moira, thank you," he said, aware then that Erik was watching him intently.

It occurred to Charles that this was the first time Erik had seen him in his own environment. It was evident that Erik was enjoying it; possibly even a little turned on by it if his dilated pupils were any indication. Charles preened.

"I have to get this taken care of," he said, gesturing to his splint, "and then Erik and I were going to have dinner, but I'll be back later tonight." He turned to Erik. "Unfortunately, if I'm getting my pigs tomorrow, I'm going to need to start working on my cultures tonight."

Erik nodded at this, but Charles didn't miss the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes. Had Moira not been there, Charles would have told Erik that they would have plenty of time for a stop at his apartment before that. Charles might be diligent about his research, but he wasn't a saint.

"Oh, and I should also give you a date," Charles continued, turning to Moira this time. "December 10th."

Moira looked more than a little confused, which was rather what Charles was hoping would happen--not because he wanted to show off, but because Erik had spent months seeing Charles as a student, and now the better part of the week seeing Charles as... well, he probably thought Charles was a nymphomaniac, to be honest, or rather a satyriasis, if he was going to get technical, and Charles wanted Erik to see that he was also capable of being a professional; of actually accomplishing things that didn't include stripping out of his clothes.

"Your shower, or stag and doe, or whatever it is they call it these days. Engagement party, maybe?" When Moira still didn't show any signs of understanding, he added, "I've booked the [ballroom at the Russian Tea Room](http://www.russiantearoomnyc.com/event-venue/the-space/bear-ballroom) for cocktails, Saturday, December 10th, 2011."

Moira's eyes grew wide. Charles smirked. She always doubted him, even when experience should have shown that he was more than capable of making good on his promises.

"You booked the ballroom, in December, with only six weeks' notice?" she said. Charles nodded.

Moira had always been an open person, capable of expressing affection, but Charles was still not expecting the little squeal she emitted, or for her to fling herself into Charles' arms, pressing a kiss against the side of Charles' mouth in her excitement.

It was almost as surprising as Erik's reaction, which was to immediately stiffen, a low growl vibrating in his throat. He looked ready to step in and physically remove Moira from Charles' person.

Moira, who already looked embarrassed by her reaction, stepped back, inching over so that Charles stood between her and Erik. Charles had never seen her so startled--she had obviously heard his growl. Had Charles not been so thoroughly flummoxed by the display, he might have a) reassured her and b) scolded Erik for thinking Moira posed any kind of threat.

Instead, all he could do is turn to stare at Erik, well aware that he was gaping like a fish.

Erik, who seemed to realize what he'd done, appeared suddenly chagrined. He stopped growling.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," he said to Moira, ducking his head as though the submissive gesture might ease any offense he had caused.

"It's fine. Fine," Moira said. She glanced to the door then, making a general gesture which Charles took to mean she intended to flee. He cast a final glance in Erik's direction and then caught her eye.

"You okay?" he asked, not letting her go until she'd nodded. He walked her to the door, silently asking the question again, feeling somewhat relieved when she arched an eyebrow and mouthed, _Oh, my God_ , like she couldn't fully fathom what had just happened, but was amused beyond measure by it. Charles couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. No one had ever thought to stake any kind of claim to Charles. It was as ridiculous as it was thrilling.

After Moira had slipped out the door, lips pressed together to keep herself from laughing, Charles turned back to Erik. He looked gutted.

"Charles, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." He hung his head. "God, you must think I'm a brute."

He looked like he expected Charles to break up with him right on the spot--which was almost as ridiculous as Erik thinking Charles would ever-- _ever_ \--choose someone over him.

Charles made his way slowly across the room, getting into Erik's space, reaching up to place his splinted hand against Erik's chest. Erik glanced up, startled.

"So you've got a little bit of a possessive streak," Charles said, smiling as he said it, because Charles had never been possessed before, and even though the logical, scientific part of his brain found the whole thing ludicrous, his hindbrain was drooling all over the place.

"No," Erik said, and then, "Yes," and then, "Apparently?" like it was question. Charles grinned.

"Well, I can assure you you have nothing to worry about, especially not with Moira, because in addition to being like a sister to me, she's also the wrong gender entirely."

Erik chuckled at that, conceding the point with a nod of his head. He still looked beyond mortified, like Charles was the Queen and he'd just served tea in a coffee mug. Charles brought his good hand up to rest alongside the bad, stroking lightly at Erik's chest until the tension in Erik's shoulders eased, the rigid line of his back going soft.

This, Charles knew, would probably be the point where he further eased Erik's worry via blowjobs, or maybe sex on Charles' sofa--oh, how he wanted to have sex with Erik on his sofa--but the hour was getting late and if they didn't get to the clinic soon, Charles was going to be stuck with this splint on his hand until he could schedule another appointment.

"Come on," he said, "let's get this thing off," he held up his hand, "and then you can buy me dinner, and after, we can head back to mine."

There was no other word to describe Erik's expression save blinding relief. He smiled then, crowding against Charles like he meant to skip ahead to the end of the evening right then and there.

"I don't know why you put up with me," he said, which was about as startling a thing to hear as his earlier reaction had been to witness.

It was entirely possible, Charles realized, that Erik didn't realize how utterly perfect he was. Charles was torn between telling him, and letting him remain in the dark, lest he decide he really was far too good for someone like Charles.

"It's not that much of a hardship," Charles said, light and teasing, which caused Erik's smile to widen.

With Erik smiling at him like that, it took a decided amount of willpower to pull back, to gesture Erik towards the door. It was almost disappointing when Erik went without argument, Charles shaking his head because, really, he could go half a day without ravaging Erik. He reached for his coat with shaking hands.

As soon as Charles was dressed, Erik slipped his hand into Charles' good one, interlacing their fingers as they stepped out into the hall, Charles hoping then that they passed every single person that he knew, if only so that they could see the man Charles had somehow managed to snag. His hand stopped shaking.

~*~

"I've heard of this Russian Tea Room," Erik said while they waited in the tiny consulting room for Charles' x-rays to come back. "It's famous, isn't it?"

Living in New York, Charles took for granted that everyone knew the Russian Tea Room. He tried to recall what he could of Germany, but couldn't bring to mind anywhere that would compare. There were probably dozens of restaurants that qualified, but he'd only been a handful of times, and most of those trips had taken him to Berlin--the ones that hadn't had had him locked inside a Max Planck institute for pretty much the entire duration of his trip.

"It is, I suppose. Moira's in love with the place, and since I'm officially her man of honour, it's my duty to throw her a party. You'll come, won't you?"

Erik was making a face, one that suggested something Charles had said had confused him.

"You're more than welcome to bring Raven, and that fellow she's seeing if you like," Charles tried.

"Of course I'll come, but what exactly is a man of honour?" Erik said, and ah, that explained his confusion. Charles blushed.

"Well, traditionally a woman has a maid of honour, a man a best man, but since Moira's a woman and I'm a man, that leaves me with man of honour." He smiled, hoping Erik found it as amusing as he had. Erik merely arched an eyebrow.

He was holding Charles' hand--the one that had been wearing a splint--thumb rubbing softly against the back of Charles' knuckles. His skin was dry and flaking, and Charles had wanted to pull it away, to wait until it was cleaned and moisturized, but Erik had insisted, still reeling from the look the nurse had given him when he'd confessed to being responsible for the injury.

 _Don't be absurd, it was a complete accident_ , Charles had said, before the woman could accuse Erik of knocking him around.

"So she kissed you because she liked your choice of venue," Erik said, and Charles didn't missed the way he stuttered on the word _kissed_.

"Tell me you're joking?" Charles said, leaning into Erik then, because as delightful as it was that he could make Erik jealous--he'd never made anyone jealous, not even Scott, who had only rolled his eyes and laughed whenever he found Charles flirting with someone else--it was also utterly ridiculous that Moira--Moira of all people--worried him.

"No, I..."

"In addition to the whole gender thing I mentioned earlier, she's also engaged to be married."

Erik coloured then, that same sheepish expression from earlier creeping onto his face.

"Sorry. I'm not used to..." he gestured, but for the life of him Charles couldn't figure out what Erik meant by it.

"Used to?" he prompted. Erik shrugged.

"Having something that's mine," he said, which was precisely when Charles' heart stopped working.

He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat--probably that pesky heart, he thought absently--lungs constricting even as he willed his eyes to remain dry. When he could speak--and it took some time, during which Erik sat awkwardly, thumb still stroking Charles' hand--he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I rather like being yours," he said, which caused Erik to glance up, startled and more pleased than Charles was expecting him to be and oh, he realized, they were idiots.

This was what the Romantic poets talked about; that once in a lifetime love that far too few people experienced. Erik wasn't going to leave. He wasn't going to wake up one morning and decide Charles wasn't good enough, because he was probably sitting there worrying that Charles was going to do the exact same thing. It was quite possibly the most enlightening moment of his life, and he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

How the hell had Charles gotten lucky enough to find that?

The thought made him laugh, which seemed to startle Erik until Charles shook his head, still smiling broadly even as he reached for Erik with his free hand, pulling at Erik's shoulder until Erik slid forward to meet him, the kiss as joyful as it was tender. When he pulled back, Erik was smiling softly, but there was a question in his eyes, lingering confusion that Charles wanted to chase away so that the ugliness of doubt would stop getting in the middle of all of this.

"I'm starting to think the universe rather likes me," he said, which was precisely when the door to the consulting room opened, the doctor walking in, the universe proving him wrong with three little words.

"Two more weeks," the doctor said. In the face of his revelation, Charles really couldn't bring himself to complain.

~*~

Erik couldn't seem to stop grinning. It meant he had a nice pocket to himself on the subway ride home from Charles'--and he hated that he had to leave, that he couldn't spend the night in Charles' bed every night, or better yet, have Charles spend the night in his.

Maybe he was approaching this all wrong. Maybe he should simply ask Charles, outright, if he wanted them to live together. It had only been a week, granted, but they'd spent weeks wasting time before that, so he couldn't see any reason not to play catch-up.

And he was fairly certain Charles would say yes. It was impossible not to be aware of this thing between them. It was so powerful Erik could barely think for it.

Like the way they'd instantly agreed to take-out after Charles had his hand re-splinted, even though Erik had been planning to take him out for a nice dinner. Or the way they'd leisurely sat on Charles' bed, all curled around each other, Charles stealing his spring rolls while Erik stole Charles' chicken-balls. Or how, after, they'd kissed for what seemed like hours, the sharp bite of sweet and sour sauce on their tongues making Erik hungry again, and they'd had to stop for a snack before ever getting out of their clothes.

Or the way, later, Charles had held them together, fisting their combined cocks, slick with Erik's lube. He'd been so embarrassed when he'd [gone to retrieve it](http://www.nekosmuse.com/lube.gif), Charles' eyes growing wide, the toothbrush in his mouth--a bid to keep them from the left-over Chinese food--stilling as he'd picked it up and examined it.

"This is good stuff," he'd said, or rather, mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste.

Erik's answer was little better--and he now had a toothbrush at Charles' place, something that thrilled him to no end. "My errand," he'd said, shrugging awkwardly, but Charles had only smiled, and after they'd spit and rinsed, he'd drawn Erik down onto the bed and vowed to put the lube to good use.

They had, and even when Erik had had to leave, Charles due back at the lab, they had lingered in their goodbyes, Erik insisting on walking Charles back to the main campus, wanting to walk Charles all the way back to his lab, and then maybe hang out in Charles' office until Charles was done. The only reason he hadn't was because he didn't want to appear too desperate, and because Charles had promised to meet him for lunch tomorrow.

Also, there was Raven to consider, and while he'd texted her to let her know he was going to miss dinner, he'd also told her was coming home tonight, and while he knew she wouldn't begrudge him spending another night with Charles, he didn't want to get into the habit of constantly abandoning her. She deserved better than that.

Thinking of Raven made him pull out his Blackberry. He waited until he'd reached his stop and was above ground to call. She answered after two rings.

"You need me to pick anything up?" he asked. She chuckled.

"Azazel stopped by with Italian," she said. Erik paused, waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he picked up his pace.

"I'll be there in five," he said, waiting for Raven's acknowledgement before disconnecting the call. There was something in her tone that worried him, like she was nervous about his arrival home. He had never before made Raven nervous.

He fumbled with his keys only once getting into their apartment--this after nearly bowling over the doorman on his way into the building--Erik getting a single foot in the door before he froze, eyes immediately locking on the couch.

It wasn't Azazel--Erik had been expecting him--or the fact that Raven had her feet planted firmly on his lap--although that certainly was a surprise--that stopped him; it was Raven's hair.

Erik blinked, and when that didn't work, he shook his head. Azazel chuckled.

"I still like it," he said, and it took Erik a minute to realize he was actually painting Raven's toenails.

Raven never let anyone paint her toenails. Not even Erik--though he would have undoubtedly refused had she asked.

Erik blinked some more.

"You hate it, don't you?" Raven said, and this, he realized, was the source of her worry.

He was still having too hard a time processing the change to speak, so he shook his head instead. He didn't hate it, per se, it was simply different; drastically different and Raven didn't tend to do drastically different. In place of her long, cascading blonde locks, she now wore her hair at chin length, pin straight, and dyed in the brightest colour of red Erik had ever seen. Both the cut and the colour made her look older somehow; as though she'd matured out of the young adult she'd been only this morning.

"It's..." Erik tried, but nothing seemed to want to come out. He couldn't decide if this was a good thing. He had no idea what this was a reaction to, or what it would mean tomorrow, or next week, or even next month. Consistency was key with Raven, change tending to upset the delicate balance they'd created.

It was probably, when he reflected on it, his fault. He was the first to upset their routine, and now he would have to deal with the fallout--though if it turned out only to be a new hairstyle, then he could certainly handle that.

"Erik, I can practically hear you thinking, and you're being an idiot. It's just a haircut," Raven said. She'd removed her feet from Azazel's lap, keeping her toes spread wide as she crossed the room to where he was still standing, door still open behind him. She reached around him to swing it shut.

Experience would suggest there was no _just_ anything with Raven, but Erik still nodded. He reached forward then, waiting for her nod to catch a lock of it, letting his fingers run down its length.

"It actually kind of suits you," he said. And it did. Raven was the fiercest person he knew, and now she looked it.

In response, she offered him a smile that lit up her entire face.

He offered then to vacate the apartment, give her and Azazel some space, but Raven instantly refused, insisting Erik join them in the living room, where he soon found himself listening to Azazel tell a story that seemed to centre around a man he'd met when he first came to New York. Raven laughed throughout the story, but Erik was still too distracted by her hair to pay attention. There was something about it that caught the edge of a memory, but Erik couldn't for the life of him bring it into focus. He spent a long time chasing the edge of it, until Raven's laughter was replaced by comfortable silence, and then awkward longing as Azazel announced his need to head home.

Erik very carefully took himself to bed, leaving them to their goodbyes.

He found he rather missed Charles, but then, that was nothing new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand thank yous are owed to Sam, for both inspiring bits of this chapter (and others) and for providing me the most detailed notes imaginable on life inside a genetics laboratory. This will come in quite handy over the next few chapters. There aren't enough words to express her sheer awesomeness. Thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

  


_blood  
war_

_never her_

_but it was  
her._

_warm lips  
warm smile_

_heart  
open_

_ripped away_

_in you  
I see her._

_she hasn’t  
been_

_here_

_though_

_not in  
years._

[Red, by Erik Lehnsherr, October 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/472850)

~*~

Erik didn't dream much, at least, nothing that he could remember--shapes, images, the odd flash of colour, most of it forgotten by morning. He'd told a therapist that once, and she'd told him that he wasn't alone, that a lot of people didn't remember their dreams. It was a marginally disappointing thing to hear. He'd hoped it might provide an answer for why he was the way that he was.

Years later he was starting to realize that there really wasn't anything wrong with him; at least, nothing that he was responsible for.

This, though; this Erik was certain was a dream. Was that normal, he wondered, to be conscious of a dream, aware of it? Something to ask Dr. Frost the next time he saw her. There wasn't much to it; just a vague sense of a room, its colours bleached grey, its size shifting whenever he tried to focus on it too long. It felt hollow, as vast as it was claustrophobic. Erik closed his eyes and willed himself to wake.

Apparently being conscious of a dream did not grant him control of the dream, because when he opened his eyes, he was still stuck in the room.

He willed himself to move, to step forward, approach the boundaries of the room, but no matter which direction he tried to move, he remained rooted on the spot. Was this a nightmare? Was some horrid creature--Shaw, his mind provided--going to emerge from the shadows and devour him whole? Certainly the room didn't seem particularly frightening. There was nothing about this that inspired even the slightest hint of fear; on the contrary, he felt strangely languid, though mildly annoyed by his inability to move.

Nothing changed. No one entered the room, no one left. Erik remained, rooted where he was, watching the room shrink in size, and then expand again, over and over again, until he grew dizzy from the sensation. Erik blinked.

And found he was staring at his ceiling, his vision washed in red.

 _What the hell?_ he thought, and then shook off the sensation in favour of getting out of bed, lest he fall back asleep.

It was early--too early to be awake--so Erik dug out some running gear, intent on getting in a quick run before breakfast. He hadn't been in days--Charles' fault, but Erik would gladly give up his runs if it meant spending time with Charles. Still, it felt good to lace up his runners, to head downstairs, nod to the doorman on his way out, and step onto the pavement.

It took the better part of a mile before he was feeling warmed up. The early morning air was brisk, but not so cold that it distracted him from the steady gait of his pacing. Sidewalk disappeared beneath his feet, the early hour meaning there were few pedestrians and very little traffic. The sun hadn't yet risen, though the horizon was dusted in orange, giving the hour a particularly serene feel.

He felt disconnected from everything save the mechanics of his body. The world around him faded into nothingness--so similar to his dream that Erik had half a second to feel startled by it before it too faded away. Then there was only the pounding of his heart, the straining of his lungs and the aching of his legs. Erik found himself grinning. He picked up his pace.

He had routes, several of them, all pre-plotted and measured, so that on any given run he could go three miles, or six, or eight, or eighteen, and know exactly how far he'd gone and in how much time. Today he meandered, letting whimsy dictate his route, turning left simply because his body wanted to turn left, right simply because he liked the look of the sidewalk.

He found himself back on Charles Street, though it wasn't intended, and he had by no means taken a direct route. The street was just as pleasant as he remembered it being, Erik slowing as he passed by a For Sale sign in the window of one of the brownstones. His grin grew soft around the edges.

It lasted just until he arrived at the intersection where the sports car had hit the sedan. There was no sign of the accident now, not even a single skid mark on the road, the entire incident obliterated from history. Erik slowed to a walk, and then stopped at the lights, waiting for them to change.

He'd gone back to the scene of his parents' accident, once--this on the advice of a therapist who'd been more concerned by Erik's parents' death than Erik's relationship with Shaw. He'd sat on the banks of the river and stared at the flowing water, not really sure where they had gone off the road, but the scene had inspired nothing in him, and it certainly hadn't served to lessen his anger towards Shaw, so he'd fired the woman and gotten himself a new psychiatrist.

One in a string of many.

The light opposite went red, Erik tensing as he waited for his to go green. He was fairly certain he was imagining the glittering of glass in the pavement as he ran over the place where the sedan had rested. His stop at the light had lowered his heart rate, the brief reprieve enough for him to once again pick up his pace, running hard as he made a wide square, heading back the way he had come.

He took his time getting back to his apartment, winding through the city simply because he could, running until his lungs felt ready to explode, his heart a constant hammer in his chest. When he arrived outside the doors to his building, his doorman immediately opening them to grant Erik entry, it was all Erik could do to stumble inside, hands coming to his knees as he bent over, sucking in air until he felt steady enough to walk.

"Are you all right, Sir?" his doorman asked, but Erik merely waved him off, enjoying the endorphin rush now that he was done.

He stretched in the elevator, though probably not as much as he should have, his muscles still burning as he made his way into the apartment. It was only just now approaching the time he would have woken were it not for the dream, so it was somewhat of a surprise when Erik stepped through the door and found Raven puttering in the kitchen. Her hair wasn't as much of a shock this time, but his eyes were still instantly drawn to it.

"Oh good, you're home," she said, holding up the coffee pot like she thought Erik could magically make coffee on command.

 _You're up early_ , is what Erik meant to say. What came out was, "My mother had red hair," which he hadn't realized was true until he said it. Raven's eyes grew wide.

She didn't say anything, clearly thrown by the comment, so Erik shook his head, crossing into the kitchen to take the pot from her hand. He got the coffee brewing and then grabbed himself a glass of water, draining it and refilling it before he turned back to meet Raven's cautious gaze.

"It's fine. Sorry, I just realized why it seemed so familiar," he said, gesturing to her hair. Raven caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Do you want me to change it?" she asked, entirely serious, like she would in a heartbeat if Erik asked her too. Erik shook his head.

"Don't be ridiculous. It looks good on you."

The comment seemed to be enough to assuage Raven's worry, because she smiled, flipping a corner of her hair out like she was auditioning for a shampoo commercial. Erik laughed.

"Why are you up so early, anyway," he said. Raven's expression grew serious once more. She held up a finger, biding Erik wait while she disappeared from the room. When she returned, she was holding a glossy [flyer](http://www.nekosmuse.com/mud.jpg) that she placed in his hand.

Erik blinked at it.

"You want to be a make-up artist?" he asked, because Raven had never expressed an interest in make-up.

"I kind of thought it might be fun," she said, shrugging. Erik frowned. "The only problem is the tuition is like over $20,000 a year, so..." she shrugged. It was clear now why she wasn't sleeping. That she was even considering going to school would have interfered with her sleep schedule. That she was considering doing something that would put them in debt should have given her outright insomnia.

He was also starting to understand why she'd so drastically changed her appearance. It was almost a measure of her improvement over the years--her growth--that she'd chosen her hair as an outlet for her uncertainty. In years gone by, she had chosen more destructive means.

"We'll manage it," Erik said, because they would. He came nowhere near spending his salary, and Raven was working now, and what they couldn't cover they'd take out loans for. If this was something Raven wanted to do, then Erik would support it, 110%.

Raven still looked unconvinced, so Erik reached over and ruffled her hair, something he hadn't done since she was a kid. She laughed at him then, taking back her flyer.

"I'll think about it," she said, but she folded it neatly in half and tucked it safely into the pocket of her robe.

Erik didn't press; Raven would make the decision in her own time, without his interference. It was enough that she knew he had her back. Instead, he gestured over his shoulder, to the refrigerator.

"You want breakfast?" he asked.

Raven smiled. Erik took that for a yes and began making them eggs.

~*~

Charles blinked at the sunlight streaming in through the bank of windows on the far side of the room. How long had it been since he'd looked up from his CO2 incubator?

Across the room, Hank was standing next to the centrifuge.

"Do you know it's morning," Charles asked. This wouldn't be the first time they'd spent the night so engrossed in work they'd forgotten to sleep. It was simply the first time in what seemed a very long time. Hank glanced up from what he was working on--harvesting cells, it looked like--and gave Charles a confused look.

"What?"

Charles nodded to the window. It was almost comical watching Hank glance over. He blinked repeatedly, shaking his head as though he didn't trust what he was seeing.

"Well, that would explain why I'm hungry," he said, almost as if to himself. Charles chuckled, even as his stomach rumbled, reminding him that, yes, breakfast would be nice about now.

He considered the possibility of calling Erik, seeing if he was on campus yet--Charles doubted it--to see if he wanted to grab something to eat. There was also the distinct possibility that Charles should simply go home, have a bowl of stale cereal and then crawl into bed. It was Hank who made the decision for him.

"Jou Jou's?" he said, and Hank so very rarely suggested they do anything save work that Charles was startled into accepting.

He realized after, as they stood in the elevator, that Hank had only suggested it because he wanted to talk shop.

"It's going to be the day at least before we have an indication of which cultures will be strong performers," Hank was saying, "which means it'll be tomorrow morning before we can begin implantation. The first twenty-four hours will be crucial."

And just like that, there went his weekend--not that he'd been expecting to have it free, but there was a difference between assuming he'd be stuck in the lab and knowing it.

"We'll have to make arrangements for next weekend," Hank continued, Charles frowning until he realized they had a conference scheduled that weekend.

A conference all the way in Los Angeles. That he hadn't made any arrangements for. Not even his flight.

Charles had always known he was easily distracted, but this was unforgivable.

"I'm actually a little worried we won't be presenting anything new. Do you think we ought to write up a summary of our preliminaries here?"

For the first time since they'd stepped onto the elevator, Hank stopped talking. He turned to look at Charles, just as the elevator came to a stop, bouncing slightly as it did.

"Yes, yes, we can do that," Charles said, wondering then if it was entirely too soon to invite Erik to come away with him. Surely Erik wouldn't mind seeing Los Angeles. He could explore the city while Charles sat in his conference, and then they'd spend their nights exploring LA's fine dining establishments--or maybe not leaving the confines of their hotel.

Hank was going on again about some markers he wanted to tag, so Charles let himself drift, half absorbing the conversation--he loved Hank dearly, he did, but Hank tended to like to talk out every step of an experiment as though Charles had no idea what he was doing or even what they were trying to accomplish. He let himself imagine spending an entire weekend locked inside a hotel room with Erik; imagine waking up to him every morning, and then strolling downstairs to eat continental breakfasts, their legs tangling under the table.

He was still imaging it by the time he and Hank got to Jou Jou's. They bought coffee and bagels, Hank still talking, as though he was making up for having worked the entire night in silence. For a minute, Charles felt marginally guilty for spending so much time away from the lab. Hank had few people in his life, and Charles was probably one of his closer friends--maybe even his only friend. It was strange that he hadn't actually considered that before.

Maybe he wouldn't invite Erik to LA. Maybe he'd eat dinners with Hank and let Hank drone on about the inconsistencies in his fellow scientists' research.

"You completely stopped listening to me ten minutes ago, which means you're thinking about him," Hank said.

They were eating as they walked back to the lab--Hank wasn't the sort to waste time over a sit-down breakfast, which is likely why he'd suggested Jou Jou's--which meant that Charles had to finish chewing and swallow before he was capable of answering.

"Sorry, though, no, I was actually thinking about LA. I haven't exactly made plans yet."

Hank chuckled. "I figured. That's why I got you a room and a flight. You owe me $950, give or take."

Charles stumbled to a stop, Hank continuing on several paces before he realized Charles was no longer beside him. He stopped, turning then to give Charles a slightly exasperated look.

"Do you remember our senior year?" he asked.

It took Charles a minute to place what Hank was talking about.

"You were so obsessed with whatever that guy's name was,"--it was Steve, but Charles didn't say anything, the entire incident still so embarrassing Charles didn't particularly like thinking about it--"that you forgot to arrange housing for the start of the year."

He'd ended up sleeping on the floor in Hank's dorm room, for an entire two weeks while he scrambled to sort out living arrangements--not an easy thing considering he'd been cut off from his family's money.

"And if I'd made arrangements?" Charles asked, because it was rather presumptuous of Hank. Hank snorted.

"I called the hotel, and you weren't registered as a guest, and since you like to make all your travel arrangements in a single swoop, it was a reasonable to assume you hadn't booked your flight yet."

Charles wasn't sure what to say to that. He had no idea Hank knew him quite that well--which was probably ridiculous, especially given how long they'd known one another, and how often they spent locked inside labs together.

"Well, thank you," Charles said, meaning it, because at least it was one worry off his plate. Hank nodded, like it was just part of his job; which, when Charles thought about it, it probably was. Hank had been looking out for him for years and he was only just now realizing it.

He was done his bagel and halfway through his coffee by the time they made it back to Hammer. Hank seemed to have exhausted everything he wanted to talk about--or it was possible he'd simply run out of air--spending the elevator ride sipping from his coffee while he scrolled through messages on his phone. He didn't glance up when the elevator arrived, which is why he ran head first into Moira, who was attempting to get on the elevator.

"Sorry," he mumbled, still not glancing up, whatever he was reading completely absorbing his attention. He navigated around her, shooting Charles a slight wave that Charles interpreted as a _give me a minute and we'll get back to work._ Charles turned to Moira and smiled.

"Little early to be leaving. Aren't you just getting in?" he asked.

"I was actually looking for you," she said, gesturing over her shoulder. Charles fell into step at her side, following her towards her office. "I have someone named Mrs. Forrester on the line. She says it's urgent she speak to you directly and she wouldn't get off the line. I think she called your number and when she didn't get you, she started calling random names in the directory."

Charles had perked up at the mention of Mrs. Forrester's name, though her persistence seemed a little odd. He'd set aside a bit of time yesterday, after he'd tried calling the house--no one had answered any of his six calls, or returned his four messages--to look up every Forrester in the North Salem area. He'd found three, one of which was clearly the wrong number, Charles leaving messages with the other two. He hadn't been expecting anyone to call him back so quickly.

"Who is she?" Moira was asking.

"The head housekeeper at the house," Charles answered. "I can't seem to get a hold of anyone, and since she's always in the know, I thought I might be able to get an update from her."

Moira frowned, which caused Charles to pause. He came to a stop just outside Moira's door, the phone on her desk blinking red with the held call.

"What?" he asked.

"It's probably nothing; she just sounded a little panicked."

She gestured Charles inside then, and to Charles' surprise, didn't follow him inside, instead closing the door to give Charles a modicum of privacy. He crossed the room to claim Moira's chair, and then picked up the phone.

"Mrs. Forrester?" he asked. He had no idea how long she'd been kept on hold, or if she was even still on the line.

There was a scuffling sound, and then, "Charles?" Charles smiled.

Growing up, she'd been one of the few constants in her life. God, she must be in her seventies by now, Charles thought. When he was a child, she'd been the closest thing he'd had to a maternal figure.

"I'm so glad to hear from you, how are you?"

He frowned at the pause that followed, wondering if there was a problem with the line. The sound of Mrs. Forrester clearing her throat told him there was not.

"Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry. I thought someone had told you. It's your mother, she's..." She paused again. "I'm afraid she's passed."

It took Charles several minutes to process that statement--several more to fully comprehend what that might mean. He barked a rather desperate sounding laugh.

"That's not funny," he said. "Why would you say something like that to me?"

A distant part of his brain, the one not currently looping on the phrase _passed_ began listing off the stages of grief. _Denial_ it said, like logic could somehow displace the heavy weight that had settled over his chest.

"I'm sorry, Charles. I'm so sorry. Oh, God, I shouldn't even be telling you over the phone. Are you all right?"

"I don't understand... No one at the house would..." Finding coherency in this moment felt impossible.

"He fired us all. As soon as it happened, he had us replaced," Mrs. Forrester said, as though that explained why Charles hadn't been able to reach anyone; why they hadn't accepted his flowers.

His stepfather had known--of course he'd known--and he hadn't thought to contact Charles.

"How..." He'd been rendered speechless a few times in his life, mostly after an orgasm, but this; this was like choking on air. Charles felt incapable of swallowing.

There was a rustling on the other end of the line, Mrs. Forrester moving, Charles thought. Was she sitting down? Should he be sitting down?

That same distant part of his brain keeping lists also reminded him that he was already seated.

"It was her liver," was all Mrs. Forrester said when she finally spoke. Charles almost laughed a second time, because of course it was. Of course it was.

"How long?" he managed this time, because it had been months--maybe even longer--since he'd last seen his mother, and he hadn't heard from her since at least the start of the school year, not since Kurt's birthday. That same distant part of his brain reminded him how fast it could happen; how fast he'd seen it happen.

How long had they known? How long had they been keeping it from him? How long had she been dead?

"September 30th," Mrs. Forrester said, and Charles had to release a shaky breath at that, because his mother had been dead almost a month; had been dead the last time he'd called her.

"Thank you for telling me," Charles managed after a few shaky breaths.

Mrs. Forrester seemed disinclined to let him get off the phone, a litanies of _oh, honeys_ and _I'm so sorry_ filling the line. Charles scarcely heard them. He set the phone back in its cradle. The room seemed entirely too quiet.

He couldn't remember what he'd been doing before he'd come into the room. There was a coffee sitting on Moira's desk, half finished, and Charles thought it might be his. It was still marginally warm when he wrapped his hand around it. He took a sip and found he still could not swallow. He spit the coffee back into the cup and pushed it aside.

He was still sitting, feeling more than a little dazed, when a hesitant knock came through the door. Charles glanced up, managing a hoarse _come in_ , that echoed in the silence of the room. The door swung open. Moira peered into the room.

Whatever she was about to say was abandoned the second she caught sight of Charles. She was across the room in no time, dropping to her knees next to where he sat in her chair.

"Charles, what is it?" she asked.

Charles felt rather detached as he replied, "My mother's dead."

~*~

It had been roughly 29 hours since he'd slept last. He'd pushed past the point of exhaustion, and was now entering into that dream-like state, where reality was fuzzy and faded. It was momentum more than anything that kept Charles moving, off the shuttle bus and onto the main campus, towards Erik's office, where he'd told Erik he would meet him in time for lunch.

Moira had protested his going; she'd wanted to keep him trapped inside her office, but he'd insisted on leaving, heading straight back to the lab to finish his work, thankful then for Hank's focus--he hadn't wanted to talk with anyone just then.

Moira had hovered outside the door. Charles would catch sight of her every so often, through the small glass window, when she'd peer into the room, seeking him out. He'd half expected her to forcibly remove him from the lab; to haul him home by his ear. She hadn't, and when the lunch hour crept nearer, Charles had methodically cleaned up what he was doing, announced his intentions to get some food and then catch an afternoon nap. She was gone by that point, but she'd left him several texts, all asking him to call her. Charles had ignored them in favour of meeting Erik.

The walk from the shuttle bus to Philosophy passed in a blur, Charles only half aware of the where he was going, operating purely on instinct. He hadn't even realized how cold it was; not until he stepped into the building, a blast of warmth highlighting the chill. Charles shivered and headed for the stairs.

He got as far as Erik's floor before momentum gave way, and then only because he turned a corner and smacked directly into someone's chest. A broad someone, Charles thought, blinking, confused as to why this walking chest couldn't seem to get out of his way. He glanced up--vision gone hazy around the edges--and found himself staring at a familiar face.

An intimately familiar face--good, God, Charles realized; this man had had Charles' cock in his mouth.

"Logan, hello," Charles said, stepping back.

"Xavier," Logan said, smirking then, like their chance encounter was particularly funny.

Charles was still struggling to come up with something to say--something that wasn't, _you still owe me a new rug_ , or _so you're sleeping with my ex now_ , or worse still, _who's better in bed?_ \--when Scott came around the same corner.

"Logan, you forgot..." he was in the middle of saying when he registered Charles' presence. He stopped then, glancing from Charles to Logan and then back again. Charles took another step back, putting some more space between him and Logan.

"I..." he got so far as saying before Scott was instantly in his space, confused expression shifting instantly to worry.

"What the hell happened?" he asked.

Charles had no idea how to answer that, because, while Scott had been protective of him during their time together, that time was over and Charles was fairly certain Scott--of all people--shouldn't be looking at him like he was half afraid Charles was dying. He settled on spitting out the truth, though only because it seemed far easier than denying what was undoubtedly obvious to anyone who looked at him.

"My mother died," he said, Scott's eyes growing wide. He brought a hand up to Charles' shoulder then, squeezing gently. Charles was so startled by the gesture that he froze, gaze focusing on Scott's hand, where it rested, curled around his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Charles. If there's anything I can do..." was as far as Scott got before Charles caught sight of Erik, coming around the corner--the transition between classes, Charles realized--coffee in hand and satchel strung over his shoulder.

He froze upon spotting them, seeming confused by what he was witnessing. Then his gaze fell on Scott's hand, still wrapped around Charles' shoulder. Charles instantly stepped back, though doing so brought him into contact with Logan's chest.

It took him several moments to detangle himself from between them, the hall narrow, Charles sliding into place at Erik's side. Erik stared at Logan and Scott like he was capable of killing them via intent alone. He very purposely--and any other time it would have delighted Charles--wrapped a hand around Charles' waist.

"If Charles needs anything, I'll take care of it," he told Scott, Scott's eyes growing slightly wide, but he nodded.

"Apologies," he said, inclining his head.

He turned back to Logan then, handing over whatever it was Logan had forgotten--a set of keys Charles saw now. Charles turned to Erik, and was about to ask if they could retreat to Erik's office, when Scott seemed to remember something, calling Charles' name to get his attention. The arm around Charles' waist tightened perceptibly.

Charles turned--hard to do with Erik practically clinging to him--and found Scott rummaging through his wallet. He found what he was looking for, handing over a business card. Charles reached across to accept it. Erik did not relinquish his grip.

[   
](http://nekosmuse.com/remy.jpg)

"What is this?" he asked, staring at the card now, not entirely certain what he was looking at.

"Just a guy I know. He's an estate lawyer."

Charles glanced up and found Scott watching him with something approaching friendly concern etched into his features. Had they come that far, Charles had time to wonder before Scott was speaking again.

"I know you," he hazarded a brief glance at Erik, but immediately pressed on, "and I know you'll want to let it go, but don't let that asshole take your money."

He didn't say anything after that, turning back to Logan, Logan nodding at whatever he saw in Scott's expression. Scott turned and walked back the way he had come, Logan brushing past them on his way out of the building. Charles was left alone with Erik.

"What was that?" Erik asked. Charles wasn't entirely certain where to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Sam for the genetics/lab background. I cannot express how helpful your detailed notes have been. Thanks again to stlkrchck for the New York info. I feel like I know this city intimately now.


	6. Chapter 6

Charles woke to the sweet scent of onions mingled with garlic. It took him several minutes to register where he was. His memories of coming home were fuzzy at best.

His apartment radiated soft warmth, the lamp across the room casting warm yellow light across the floor, while light from his kitchen spilled into the main living space. Charles couldn't remember his apartment ever feeling as homey as it did right now.

He sat up in the bed, catching sight of drawn shades. They highlighted blackened windows. He had a vague memory of telling Erik about his mother--oh, God, his mother--Erik bundling him off the campus and home to his apartment. Charles had moved so far past exhaustion that he'd simply collapsed onto the bed and fallen asleep the second they were through the door. Somehow, between then and now night had fallen. Somehow, between then and now, someone had carefully removed his jacket and his shoes, and then wrapped him in blankets.

It wasn't hard to figure out that last bit. Erik was still here, in the kitchen, moving over Charles' stove like he owned it--and given how infrequently Charles used the thing Erik was more than welcome to it. He must have gone out, Charles reasoned, because Charles had, at last inventory, absolutely no food in his fridge. How long had he been asleep?

"What time is it?" Charles asked, because someone had also removed his watch and the contents of his pockets. He could see them sitting on his nightstand, but he had no real interest in moving. Besides, it was somewhat amusing watching Erik jump, Erik turning from his task, seemingly surprised to find Charles awake.

"A little after six," he said. He turned back to the stove, gave whatever he was cooking a quick stir, and then set down his spoon--plastic, Charles didn't own wooden ones, even though he knew now that Erik preferred them.

Panic surged upon hearing the time, because Charles had just abandoned Hank, and he probably ought to get back to the lab if they hoped to keep on schedule. He struggled to climb from the bed, his limbs heavy and his head still foggy.

"Relax," Erik said, seeming to know exactly what had caused Charles' panic. "That Moira friend of yours called. She said to take the day--to take as many as you needed. Someone named Hank is going to cover for you."

Charles groaned. "He's been covering for me all semester," he said, but he settled back into the bed, not particularly interested in leaving his apartment, not when it was so warm and comfortable; not when it smelled so incredibly delicious. His stomach gave an appreciative grumble. Charles caught Erik's eye.

Erik was looking at him like he wasn't entirely certain what to say--or even what to do. He seemed torn between standing where he was, in the middle of Charles' kitchenette, and crossing the room to Charles' side. A second later Charles realized Erik was waiting for his cue. Charles offered a soft smile. Erik instantly relaxed.

"Are you all right?" he asked. From anyone else it would have been a ridiculous question. From Erik it was about the most touching thing anyone had ever asked Charles. There was something in the inflection of his voice that suggested he would have done anything to ensure that Charles was.

"I'm fine, well, maybe not fine, but I will be," he said. He slipped from the bed and into the kitchen, Erik perking up at Charles' approach. As soon as Charles was in range, Erik slid his hands around Charles' waist and drew him close.

"Did you really bring me home, put me to bed, buy me groceries, wait around for six hours and then cook me dinner?" Charles asked, because that, as far as he was concerned, was grounds for a proposal.

Erik looked mildly apologetic, and more than a little embarrassed. He ducked his head. Charles beamed.

"If you're not careful, I'm going to ask you to move in with me," Charles said then, intending the comment to be teasing, but Erik immediately glanced up, looking so ridiculously happy that Charles was momentarily stunned into silence.

"I could. I mean, not here; there's not enough room for all of us, but we could get a bigger place," Erik said.

Charles' eyes grew wide, which was about when Erik seemed to realize what he'd just said.

"Sorry," he said, looking more than a little chagrined. "That was too fast. My psychiatrist keeps telling me I'm moving too fast with you, which I probably shouldn't have told you either, and this is probably a conversation we should have later, because your mother just passed and..." Erik trailed off, as out of sorts as Charles had ever seen him. There was something in the way his voice caught on _mother_ that piqued Charles' attention, not to mention he was more than a little curious to learn that Erik had a psychiatrist, but mostly he was too busy absorbing the fact that Erik had just said he wanted them to live together to do anything aside from blink at the man.

When Charles was once again capable of speech, the first thing that came out--and it was the last thing he intended to say--was, "All of us?"

Erik's eyes grew wide, and he opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it a second later, sniffing the air as he did, his expression becoming mildly alarmed. He turned back to the stove, then, where his garlic and onions were undoubtedly well-browned.

"Scheisse," he said, his attention well and truly diverted. Charles stepped back and watched him work, Erik moving frantically around the kitchen as he tried to salvage their dinner. The thought of living with Erik, as shocking as it was--as quick as it was--was also probably the most appealing notion Charles had ever heard.

He'd been dating Scott for the better part of two years when Scott started making plans for them to live together. The thought of doing so had filled Charles with a vague sense of dread. The thought of living with Erik filled Charles with a giddy sense of anticipation.

Thirty minutes of avoided conversation later, Charles was eating what was easily the best mushroom soup he had ever tasted--this despite Erik apologizing for having burned rather than caramelized the onions. They were seated at Charles' pull-out table, sipping what was left of the white wine--not Charles' favourite--the rest having gone into the making of the soup. Erik had been strangely quiet throughout the making of dinner, which Charles had attributed to the meal requiring his full attention, but he remained quiet now, strangely hesitant in a way a man who'd just spent hours waiting for someone to wake up shouldn't have been.

"You meant Raven. You and me and Raven," Charles said between mouthfuls of soup. It was astounding how talented this man was in the kitchen. Had it not been a terribly cliche thing to do, Charles would have let his toes curl with each mouthful.

Erik glanced up at the statement. He shook his head, but before he could say anything, Charles pressed on.

"I mean, yes, I want to live with you. It's probably too soon, but you can spend years with someone and never reach that point, and then sometimes you can know someone for weeks and just know."

There was more he wanted to say, but Erik was smiling at him, soft around the edges like he couldn't actually believe Charles was real.

"I'd like that, but I think we should probably talk about it after you've had a chance to grieve." There was something in the cadence of his words that reminded Charles sharply that Erik had lost both of his parents. He wasn't simply making a suggestion; he was speaking from experience.

There was something else there, too, some heavy uncertainty that made Charles ache just a little bit. He pushed aside his now empty bowl, stood and reached for Erik's hand. Erik let Charles pull him to his feet, but he hesitated when Charles tried to tug him away from the table, glancing into the kitchen.

"I should probably clean that up," he said, meaning the mess, but Charles shook his head.

"We can do that later," Charles said, wanting then only to have Erik in his bed, to forget about his mother and his stepfather and the business card he'd tucked into his wallet. He needed this distraction.

Erik seemed to sense that, because when Charles tugged a second time, he came willingly. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked when they got to the bed.

"I will be," Charles said, pushing against Erik's shoulders until he took the hint and climbed backwards onto the bed. Charles followed, straddling his lap, Erik's arms coming around Charles' waist to hold him in place. Charles pressed their mouths together.

It took Erik a long time to relax into the kiss. He seemed to be holding himself back, as though he was half terrified Charles might break. At the same time, he kept a tight grip on Charles' waist, like he expected Charles to bolt at any minute. Charles smiled into the kiss, though it was a weak smile, tinged around the edges with the weight of the day. Erik's grip tightened.

"We don't have to do this," he said when Charles pulled back for air.

Charles pressed their foreheads together before answering. "Is it okay if we do?" he asked.

He felt Erik nod against him, Charles tilting down at the same time that Erik leaned up, their lips meeting a second time. This time there was no hesitation in Erik's kiss, only fierce determination, like he fully intended to kiss Charles happy. A bubble of laughter welled up at the thought, Charles chuckling into Erik's mouth, Erik's lips curving upwards at the sound.

There was no finesse to it. Gone was Charles's plans--alongside that damned worksheet he'd made, because if this man wanted to live with him, if this man had spent six hours waiting in Charles' dingy little apartment for him to wake up, then Charles could be more than patient where sex was concerned. Hell, he'd spend the rest of his life topping if that was what Erik wanted.

Right now, all he wanted was a chance to touch.

He wanted that human connection, the reminder that he was alive and breathing, that life moved on despite the finality of death. He found it in Erik's collarbone, shirt pushed aside to allow Charles access, Charles running shaking fingers along it. He found it in the curve of Erik's jaw, Charles running his tongue across it, nipping along the underside simply because he could. He found it by rubbing their cheeks together, stubble against stubble.

Erik sat passively beneath him, letting Charles dictate where they were going, and for the first time in his life Charles was more than content to lead. He'd spent too much of his life seeking approval in bed--seeking approval everywhere in life, and now the approval he'd wanted most of all was forever outside his grasp. Tonight he was content to simply take what he _needed_ , Erik seeming perfectly willing to let him.

He wanted them bare, chest to chest, the taste of wine and mushrooms on Erik's tongue intoxicating. He dragged Erik's shirt from his pants and pulled until he had swept it over Erik's head. As soon as Erik was free, he reached for Charles' buttons, systematically releasing each without ever breaking Charles' gaze.

 _I love you_ , Charles wanted to say, because he was starting to realize that he did; that somehow Erik, in the short span of time Charles had known him, had completely and utterly claimed Charles' heart. He found himself incapable of speech, though, unable to do anything save stare into Erik's eyes and wait for Erik to strip him of his clothes.

Erik finished with his buttons and pushed, Charles' shirt sliding over his shoulders, falling to the floor with a simple flick of his wrists, Erik having been kind enough to release the buttons on Charles' cuffs. The second it was off Erik's hands settled on Charles' hips, pulling him forward until they were pressed chest to chest, like he had read Charles' mind. Charles tilted his head back so that Erik could kiss the underside of his jaw.

Would his mother have been happy for him, he wondered. She'd hated his homosexuality--hated having a fag for a son--had gone out of her way to avoid it at every turn, denial practically an occupation as far as she was concerned, but didn't every mother want their child to be happy, to find someone they could spend the rest of their lives with?

The train of thought was doing nothing for his libido, so Charles shook it aside, concentrating instead on running his hands over Erik's shoulders and then down the lines of his arms. He had such lovely arms.

"What do you want?" Erik asked, the words a low whisper in Charles' ear. He sucked Charles' earlobe into his mouth as he said it, thoroughly distracting Charles from the question, though not enough to register that it was the first time Erik had asked.

It was almost unfortunate Charles didn't want Erik to fuck him--not tonight--that he wanted to enjoy that particular event, to have it filled with light and love and laughter, not sorrow and confusion and anger. Tonight he only wanted distraction; that and Erik, always Erik, wrapped around him until Charles couldn't tell where he began and Erik ended.

"Your hand," Charles said, "wrapped around us both." Erik made an appreciative sound. One of the hands currently tracing abstract patterns across Charles' shoulder blades slid around to cup Charles through his pants. Charles arched into the sensation.

This wasn't frantic tear-each-other's-clothes-off sex, nor was it leisurely we-have-all-the-time-in-the-world sex. There was an edge of desperation to it, something dark around the edges that Charles didn't want to examine too hard. He was used to sex being fun--to enjoying sex thoroughly, at least while he was having it--and while he still enjoyed the feel of Erik unfastening his belt, Erik popping his top button and sliding down his zipper before reaching into his shorts to pull his cock free, Charles had never in his life felt more like crying.

Some of that must have shown on his face, because Erik paused, hand wrapped around him.

"Please," Charles found himself saying, Erik staring into his eyes for several moments before he nodded and ran his hand down Charles' length and then back up.

Charles closed his eyes against the sensation.

Erik did it again, the feel of his fingers, dipping into Charles' precome now--not as much as he usually produced, but enough to act as lubricant--so distracting that it was all Charles could do to lean his head against Erik's shoulder and just hang on.

It was still a struggle to reach his peak, something that had never happened to Charles. Erik worked him through it patiently, stroking Charles with such tenderness something caught in Charles' throat and remained lodged there until long after he'd come. It was then that he realized Erik hadn't joined him.

Charles pulled away from Erik's shoulder, vision a little hazy, feeling pleasantly wrung out, if a little heavy. He blinked at the look on Erik's face, filled with such tentative patience that it took Charles half a minute to identify it. Charles glanced down at the mess he'd made, across his stomach and all over Erik's hand, Erik's pants stained with Charles' come, and noticed then that Erik hadn't even unfastened his belt. Charles reached for it.

Erik caught his hand.

"No," he said, causing Charles to glance up sharply, protest on his tongue, but Erik shook his head a second time. "I haven't been given the opportunity to say no before, so please let me now."

Charles' eyes grew wide at that, but he immediately withdrew his hand, ignoring the outline of Erik's erect cock in favour of meeting Erik's steady gaze.

"Thank you," Erik said, pulling Charles towards him, Charles finding himself enveloped in a hug, the warmth of it so startling the thing lodged in his throat escaped as a sob.

Erik's hand found its way into Charles' hair. He ran his fingers through it, Charles leaning into the sensation even as he released a steady breath, willing himself to keep it together. Erik said nothing, but he kept stroking Charles' hair and the arm around Charles' waist tightened perceptibly.

~*~

Erik traced the line of Charles' bare hip, the faintest outline of ink still visible. He could no longer read the words, but he remembered them exactly. Charles had asked him to write something to replace them, and he wanted to now, but he didn't want to displace the stillness between them.

"I'm still waiting on that replacement," Charles said, as though he'd read Erik's mind. Erik chuckled, letting his fingers trail over the jut of Charles' hip.

They hadn't bothered getting out of bed, the mess in the kitchen abandoned. The pot he'd used to cook the soup would undoubtedly be unsalvageable come morning, but Charles had seemed disinclined to getting up, and Erik was disinclined to leaving Charles' side. They'd cleaned themselves up a little, and had stripped off their clothes and curled beneath the covers. Charles was a warm weight in his arms.

The silence between them had shifted somehow. It wasn't the same easy silence Erik was used to, but rather something that threatened to grow tense should they attempt to leave it alone. Erik attacked it head-on.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, not the first time. He wouldn't press, but he wanted Charles to know that he could talk to Erik, if he needed to.

Erik knew what it was like having no one to talk to. He wouldn't have wished that on anyone, least of all Charles.

He'd had an aid worker try to talk to him about his parents' death, right after it had happened, while he was still trying to adjust to life in that first foster home--a horrible place where Erik hadn't been permitted to eat dinner until after the natural kids had had their fill. He hadn't been able to bring himself to talk about his parent's death then, and after, when he might have been ready, he was so lost in the system that he doubted anyone even knew his full story, let alone cared. He'd told Shaw once, but Shaw had only shushed him and told him he was stronger for it. After that it seemed a rather pointless thing to think about.

It seemed it was all he could think about now.

"I don't think I'm quite ready," Charles said. "I haven't really processed it."

Erik could understand that. It had taken him months--that period of his life hazy--before he'd processed it. By then, he'd had bigger things to worry about.

"I was so young when my dad died that I didn't really understand what had happened. It wasn't until I was older that I was able to make sense of it. I'm not a little kid anymore, though, so I should be able to..."

"No," Erik interrupted. "No one should have to make sense of something like this."

It was something he'd told Raven once, though on an entirely different subject. People wanted to make sense of their experiences, but the truth was most experiences defied logic.

"You were older when your parents died, weren't you?" Charles asked. "Nine, I think you said." There was hesitancy in his voice, like he half expected Erik to ignore the question. Knowing Charles as he did now, Erik wasn't surprised that he remembered that conversation.

"Yes," he answered immediately.

As soon as he said it Charles went very still. Erik wasn't sure if it was out of respect, or because he was expecting Erik to elaborate. Was that what Charles needed, Erik wondered. He let his fingers splay across Charles' belly, pulling Charles' back further into his chest.

"I'm not sure I ever processed it," Erik admitted. "I got really confused after it happened."

That was probably an understatement, he realized. There were whole months of his life that he couldn't account for in the immediate years following their deaths. The memories he had scattered in between were so hazy he wasn't even sure they could be called memories. They were more like fragments of dreams.

"I was in the car with them," Erik said, without really meaning to. He hadn't meant to make this about him--it was about Charles--but Charles was listening intently, tucked into Erik's chest, so Erik suspected this might be helping.

"That must have been terrifying," Charles said, and it was, Erik realized. He hadn't considered that before, the entire incident so detached in his mind that he could no longer ascribe emotion to it.

Erik shook head. "I don't really remember."

Which wasn't precisely true, but what he did remember of the accident made little sense. He remembered staring out a window at passing streaks of grey, the day dreary, the rain just the other side of freezing. He remembered the jarring jolt of impact, and then the empty weightlessness of flying. He didn't remember hitting the water, only struggling to open his door and finding it impossible against the pressure of the water. He'd rolled his window down then, though whether he'd known to do it or his mother had instructed him, he couldn't say. He remembered it getting stuck halfway, not enough for him to get out, water rushing into the car.

The other car had impacted the driver's side, he found out later, so that was likely why his window had stuck, but at the time he'd panicked. It wasn't until the car hit the river's bottom that the window finally came free, falling into the door, Erik swimming out and up.

"When I was eighteen, I put in a request to see my father's crime scene photographs," Charles said then, and while Erik had known Charles' father had died, he didn't know how.

"How did he die?" he asked, uncertain if he was crossing a line, but Charles wouldn't have brought it up if he didn't want to talk about it.

Charles still hesitated before answering, "He shot himself in the head."

There was little Erik could say to that, so he tightened his grip on Charles' waist, pulled him close and whispered, "I'm so sorry," into the shell of Charles' ear. The words felt wholly inadequate.

Charles twisted his head, so that he was looking over his shoulder, their eyes barely meeting. "We're quite a pair, you and me," he said. Erik huffed out a laugh. It sounded more than a little tragic.

"Yeah, yeah we are." And maybe this was why he felt such an instant connection to Charles, like fate and destiny actually existed; like they had been made exclusively for each other. Erik rather liked the idea.

"I still can't believe that asshole didn't tell me she'd died."

He was talking about his stepfather now, Erik knew, and it was almost nice to hear Charles angry. Anger they could deal with; anger they could do something about. Erik knew a lot about being angry.

"You should call that lawyer," he said, because while he didn't know the full story--only what he had pieced together from second-hand sources--he didn't think Summers would have given Charles the card if he hadn't thought it in Charles' best interest to use it. Erik may not have particularly liked Summers, but he was more than willing to accept any overtures made on Charles' behalf, especially in this.

"Do you know, I think I will," Charles said, turning then--not an easy feat given the death grip Erik had on him. He immediately settled himself back into Erik's embrace, only now they were facing nose-to-nose. "But first," he continued, shifting up to nip at Erik's lips, Erik more than a little surprised by the gesture. "You owe me a poem."

Erik couldn't help but laugh at that.

"I have something in mind, but you might not like it," he admitted, because Charles hadn't seemed particularly pleased by Erik's territorial displays.

"I guarantee you I will love it."

There was something soft in the way Charles spoke, an underlying happiness that transcended everything else that had happened today. What else was there for Erik to do save fumble in Charles' bedside drawer for a pen, and then turn Charles onto his stomach. There was something about the sweep of his shoulder that rather appealed to Erik today.

~*~

  


_possessions_

_foreign; unfamiliar_

_with you  
however_

_claiming,  
demanding_

_isn't a  
burden_

_but a  
joy._

~*~

Charles looked younger when he slept; innocent in a way few people on the planet could claim to be. Erik knew it was only an illusion, but it still reminded him sharply of how young he'd first thought Charles.

There was still so much about Charles he didn't know. So much he wanted to know. He wanted to know if Charles was serious yesterday when he'd said he wanted to live with Erik. He wanted to know if Charles had ever had this before--with Summers?--and if so why it hadn't worked out. He wanted to know what to do to avoid that same fate; to ensure this was something that would last a lifetime.

Mostly he wanted to know how he'd managed to get so incredibly lucky.

Erik placed a kiss to Charles' shoulder, just above where his poem was scrawled in nearly illegible pen. Apparently he'd found one of Charles' more ticklish spots, and he'd squirmed and shifted throughout the writing of it. He'd demanded to see it as soon as it was finished, handing Erik his iPhone and begging a picture, so instead of lying perfectly still and allowing it to dry, Charles had moved too much. Several lines were smeared.

When Charles showed no signs of waking, Erik gently extracted himself, placing his sleep-warmed pillow at Charles' back so that he didn't topple over in Erik's absence. Charles merely grunted, a warm, contented sound, Erik momentarily struck with the urge to crawl back into bed and stay there forever.

Certainly they'd done that last night, which was why the dishes from their dinner were still not cleared away. Charles didn't have a dishwasher, so Erik filled the sink with hot, soapy water, and began clearing the table. He made it through the bowls, glasses and cutlery, and was about to start on the pot--though he suspected it was beyond saving--when a quick glance at the bed showed Charles, propped up on one elbow, blinking sleepily in Erik's direction.

"Good morning," Erik said.

Charles gave a weak smile and pushed himself up, shifting to the edge of the bed where he swung his feet out onto the floor. [He ran his hands across his face and then through his hair](http://www.nekosmuse.com/sleepycharles.gif). Erik didn't miss the tinge of sadness still etched in his features. On his arm, Erik's doodle from last night looked strangely out of place, comedy amidst tragedy.

Charles' expression cleared a minute later, Charles slowly coming awake, seeming to register exactly what Erik was doing in his kitchen. A soft smile tugged at the sides of his mouth.

"Are you doing my dishes?" he asked.

Erik coloured. "I needed some room to make breakfast."

Charles eyes grew wide. He ran a hand through his hair. It was starting to get long; longer certainly than it was when they first met.

"You're making me breakfast?"

Erik couldn't help but chuckle at that. He'd actually planned on serving Charles breakfast in bed, their conversation from earlier in the week coming back to him. He was almost glad Charles had woken before he could. There was something in Charles' shock that Erik was enjoying immensely. The man wore incredulity well.

"It's only bagels and coffee, I'm afraid, so don't get too excited."

It was almost remarkable, how quickly Charles' mood had shifted. He was grinning outright now.

"You bought me bagels and coffee?"

Erik didn't bother dignifying that with a reply. He'd had to ask somebody in Charles' lobby for directions to the nearest grocery store. The kid had sent him on a four block hike to a twenty-four hour place that had, in Erik's opinion, a rather subpar selection of, well, everything. They'd had enough for his soup--though he'd had to leave out the truffle oil entirely--but he couldn't bring himself to buy any of their pre-packaged baked goods, so on the way back he got directions to the nearest bakery. Their bagel selection was almost enough to warrant travelling uptown every weekend.

Charles was still staring at him, somewhat fondly Erik thought, so Erik rolled his eyes at him and then turned back to the now lukewarm dishwater. He opted for draining the sink and filling the pot the water, letting it soak while he made coffee and toasted a couple of bagels. He'd bought little packages of cream cheese and jam from the bakery, like the kind they gave away at hotels to go along with the continental breakfast. By the time he'd finished putting together enough for a meal, Charles had slipped on a pair of boxers and joined him in the kitchen.

"I'm starting to think I made you up," Charles said, taking one of the proffered coffees and inhaling its sent. "You're entirely too perfect to be real."

Erik chuckled at that, though mostly because he'd found himself thinking the same thing about Charles several times this last week.

He wanted to say as much, but then Charles' expression turned serious.

"Thank you," he said, "for last night, and this morning."

Erik wanted to tell him not to be ridiculous, because this was what boyfriends did for each other--at least he was fairly certain this was what they did for each other, just like he was fairly certain he had the right to call Charles that--but before he could protest, Charles pressed on.

"I do need to go into the lab today." Charles held up his hand, the one still wrapped in it splint, as if to stave off any objections Erik might have. "I actually think it might be good for me, but I was hoping you might come with me when I go to see Scott's lawyer."

"Of course," Erik answered without hesitation.

Charles nodded, seeming strangely relieved, as though he honestly thought Erik might refuse. Erik could have told him there was nothing he would refuse Charles. Nothing.

Instead he shooed Charles towards the pull-out table and then slid a toasted bagel in front of him. Charles chose the cream cheese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem found in this chapter is Possessions, written by the lovely Afrocurl. [Share your love with her, because she is so very, very deserving.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/476009)


	7. Chapter 7

  
_silence_

_screams all  
around._

_protests,  
cries of _

_anguish,  
mourning._

_fallen on_

_deaf ears  
untrained accomplices._

[Silence, by Erik Lehnsherr, October 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/489340)

~*~

 

Erik read a lot. Probably more than was healthy--although he suspected only Raven and Dr. Frost would claim as much, and then only because Erik tended to read to the exclusion of everything else, including fostering any kind of a personal life. That had changed recently--since he met Charles--but it was impossible to get rid of knowledge once it was ingrained, and so Erik knew a good deal on a good number of subjects.

One of which was dream psychology. It wasn't an idea he put a lot of stock in--he very much doubted dreams were anything more than the subconscious cycling through a lifetime of memory and imagination, the end result complex worlds built out of nothing but a person's fragments, with no hidden meaning and no answers to life's many problems. He'd only read up on the subject because, at the time, Raven had been suffering from a string of nightmares and he had wanted to understand; to find some way to help her.

It had never occurred to him that he might one day need that knowledge for himself.

Erik blinked up at the ceiling and tried to let the remnants of the dream fade. It wasn't an easy thing to do, the image of the room--that same damned room--etched into memory. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the deafening silence of the place.

Reoccurring dreams, he'd read, were the mind's way of trying to process trauma. Erik had lost count of the number of therapists who had diagnosed him with PTSD. After a while, he'd started firing anyone who so much as uttered the word. He was fairly certain whoever had associated reoccurring dreams with trauma should have been fired, too. Erik had always preferred a simpler explanation. It was easier to believe reoccurring dreams were just a lazy mind's way of regurgitating something it already knew.

He'd probably had the dream because last night was the first night in three he'd slept in his own bed, without Charles, just as he'd done the first time he'd had the dream. The more Jungian-inclined therapists would have undoubtedly told him the empty room was symbolic of the emptiness in his life before Charles came into it. The Freudian ones would have asked after his mother.

Not for the first time Erik wondered why he wasted so much of his time and money seeing shrinks.

It was late enough when Erik glanced over to his clock that a run was out of the question, but Erik still took his time getting out of bed. He'd grown used to sleeping with Charles again. It was somewhat disheartening to sit on the edge of his bed, alone in his room, the only thing breaking the silence the soft whisper of his breathing. He missed Charles--which was probably ridiculous given that he'd seen the man only last night, Erik walking Charles back to his lab after he'd gotten an emergency call from Hank, something about one of his pigs. Charles was adamant that working was exactly what he needed; that until he had a chance to call Summers' lawyer on Monday--today--he needed the distraction, so Erik hadn't complained too fiercely when the call had come.

Not that any of that stopped Erik from grabbing his Blackberry off the nightstand and sending Charles a message. Not a minute passed before Charles was responding--an obvious sign he hadn't slept. Erik smiled, his mood lightening considerable as he [sent back his reply](http://www.nekosmuse.com/lunch.jpg).

It amazed him how well Charles seemed to be handling everything that had happened. Erik had never been particularly good at dealing with things--he had spent the better part of thirteen years now in therapy because of Shaw, after all--so he tended to admire people strong enough to overcome life's obstacles. Raven was one of those people--it astounded him how strong she was--and so, apparently, was Charles. He was expecting it, because Charles always carried himself with such confidence, but to expect it and to see it were two entirely different things. It wasn't that Charles wasn't gutted by his mother's death--he clearly was, though he'd admitted to Erik that they had never been close--but he was handling her passing with far more grace than Erik suspected he had handled his parents' death.

Certainly he was handling her passing with far more grace than Erik had handled anything in his life.

Even now, aching for Charles in a way Erik suspected he should feel vaguely ashamed about, Erik lacked grace. He wanted more than anything to call Charles--despite having just texted him--simply to hear his voice. It took a good deal of his willpower to set his Blackberry back on the nightstand.

He still itched to pick it back up as he stood from the bed and slipped into some clothes. It remained there, just inside his peripheral vision, framed by the red light of his alarm clock's digital display. Erik forced himself to leave the room.

He padded into the kitchen, where he found Raven sitting at the island, staring at the make-up school flyer she'd shown him the other day. She looked sleep-wrinkled, her red hair a tangled mess. Erik crossed to her side.

"Did you get any sleep?" he asked.

There were dark circles beneath her eyes when she glanced up, but she still nodded.

"Some, but it's probably a good thing I don't have plans today." She never made plans on Halloween, spending the holiday locked inside their various apartments.

"You see your therapist tomorrow, right?" Erik asked. He knew she did, just as she knew when his appointments were, but he wanted to be sure she intended to go.

Raven frowned. "I don't want to go back on meds."

Erik immediately held up a hand, because that wasn't at all what he'd meant. "I just thought maybe having a chance to talk about this might help you with your sleep patterns."

The truth was he didn't want her back on meds either. She'd tried numerous things during their years together, and the side effects were always worse than the symptoms the drug was trying to mask. He knew that wasn't the case for everyone, but Raven was always better when she simply had someone to talk to. He knew she hadn't had a chance to discuss the potential of a new career with her shrink yet, and he very much doubted she had brought up Azazel.

Besides, as someone who outright refused to take medication, asking Raven to do exactly that would make him a hypocrite.

"You're probably right," Raven said, pushing aside the flyer. She propped her elbows on the counter, then placed her head in her hands. "No Charles?" she asked. He'd missed her last night, coming in after she'd already gone to bed. She knew about Charles' mother and her question was put delicately, as though she was afraid of crossing any boundaries she shouldn't cross.

Erik moved to the coffee maker before answering the question. "He had work, but I actually wanted to run something by you."

He intended to give Raven a chance to absorb that as he made coffee, but it really didn't surprise him when she latched on to what he was trying to say.

"You want him to move in with us," she said. She didn't sound upset, but she didn't sound thrilled either. If Erik had to pinpoint it, he'd say she sounded apprehensive.

She probably had good reason; he was, after all, proposing a fairly substantial change to their lifestyle.

"Not now. Not even right away. It's just something that's going to come up at some point and I wanted to give you a chance--and time--to consider it."

For as much as Erik wanted to live with Charles, he wouldn't abandon Raven, nor would he force her into something that made her uncomfortable. If she didn't want Charles living with them, Charles wouldn't live with them. Erik wondered how hard it would be to find a side-by-side duplex for them, maybe with a connecting door between the units so that Charles could come and go as he pleased.

It wasn't ideal, but it might serve as a compromise.

"I actually don't mind the idea of Charles living here, but it can't just happen. We'd need to sort out rules and boundaries and..."

There was more Raven intended to say, but Erik once again held up his hands, letting a soft smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

"We have lots of time, and it's not something that will happen unless you are completely comfortable with it."

Raven faltered, some of her earlier tension bleeding from her shoulders. She offered a lopsided smile, blinking somewhat sleepily as she did.

"You're so ridiculously in love it's... ridiculous," she said, and then added, "I'm going back to bed."

She didn't give Erik a chance to respond, leaving the flyer where it was--tucked now half beneath the toaster--to head back towards her room. She paused only when she reached the threshold of the hallway, turning to catch Erik's eye. Erik was pleased to note she was smiling.

"I expect you to remember this if I ever ask if Azazel can come live with us," she said, which was quite possibly the most shocking thing Raven had ever said to him. Erik blinked, aware then, perhaps for the first time, of just how much Raven--just how much they both--had changed.

He smiled softly, inclining his head. Raven chuckled, shaking her head as she turned back to the hall, disappearing down its length.

~*~

It was taking all of Charles' concentration not to fall apart. The worst part was everyone knew. He spent half of his time avoiding sympathetic looks from people he barely knew; pitying ones from those he did. Hushed conversations came to a close whenever he walked by--though Moira said he was undoubtedly being paranoid. Even Hank, who had actually met Charles' mother, couldn't seem to look him in the eye. He seemed to have no idea how to deal with Charles; no idea what to do or what to say and so opted to avoid conversation entirely.

It made Charles want to scream. Had he not been a pacifist, he would have undoubtedly wanted to punch people.

He needed his work, though, the steady pace of it distracting, otherwise he wouldn't ever bother leaving his apartment--especially if Erik was there, steady, solid Erik who knew exactly what to say and how to act and was easily the most grounded person Charles had ever met. He couldn't expect Erik to hang around all the time, though--Erik did have other obligations--Charles' research a reasonable second.

Erik's text still brightened his mood considerably, Charles having only just returned to his office after yet another night in the lab. They were actually making some headway, their stem cells having been successfully transplanted, with only one of their pigs showing signs of inflammation--certainly not enough for Hank's panicked text last night, but Charles couldn't begrudge him his worry.

Charles grinned as he read Erik's text and then sent back his reply. His grin widened when he got Erik's response in turn.

Lunch he could handle. In the meantime, Charles suspected a nap was in order--and it was almost comical that it was Erik who had facilitated Charles' free schedule, because without him Charles would have had to teach an Intro to Genetics course on absolutely no sleep.

Charles didn't particularly feel like heading all the way home and this would hardly be the first time he'd slept on his couch. Charles eyed it with something akin to longing and then glanced back to his iPhone. He probably shouldn't put off calling Scott's lawyer because the longer he put it off the more likely he was to skip it all together. Already he was beginning to wonder if it was even worth the bother. He didn't particularly want the money--never had--and Kurt undoubtedly had a dozen or so high-priced lawyers on retainer.

It was the thought of Kurt, sitting in Charles' ancestral family home, spending Charles' father's money that made him pick up his phone. He retrieved his wallet and pulled out Scott's card. [Remy Lebeau](http://www.nekosmuse.com/remy.jpg). It was hardly a name to inspire confidence; the voicemail the call went to even less so.

_You reached the offices of Remy Lebeau, but I not here right now, so you leave a message and I get back to you when I can._

Charles wasn't sure what threw him more; the thick Cajun accent or the fact that Remy Lebeau had recorded his own voice mail message. Most of the lawyers Charles had met had more staff than they did clients. Charles left a stuttering, stilted message that basically outlined his situation and requested a meeting. He left his number, hung up, and then put his phone on silent. The only thing left to do was lock his office door and then curl up on his couch, Charles grabbing the knitted blanket Moira's mother had given him two Christmases ago. It wasn't long before he succumbed to slumber.

It was somewhat startling to wake sometime later to the sound of someone knocking on his door. It took Charles several seconds to figure out where he was, and then several more to figure out why someone seemed so intent on waking him up.

 _Erik_ , Charles thought, sitting up abruptly. He glanced at his watch and found it was already 12:45, well past when he was supposed to meet Erik for lunch. It took a good deal of effort to lever himself off the couch, Charles' head still foggy with sleep as he stumbled his way to the door and unlocked it.

Charles opened the door to find Erik looking more than a little panicked. He relaxed as soon as he saw Charles, smile tugging at his lips. Still a little sluggish, it took Charles a couple more seconds to figure out why Erik was on the verge of laughing at him. He ran a hand through his hair, and then [over his scruff](http://www.nekosmuse.com/scruff.jpg).

"I slept through our lunch," Charles said, stepping aside to let a now chuckling Erik into his office. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." He reached out to cup Charles' cheek. "This is a good look on you," he said, rubbing his thumb across Charles' stubble. Charles rolled his eyes, because he undoubtedly looked like he'd just woken up in a ditch after a night of heavy drinking.

That didn't stop him from leaning into the touch. "You should have called me," he said. Erik's grin grew teeth. Ah, that was right; he'd turned off his phone.

Charles crossed the room to retrieve it now, finding three messages and a number of texts--all the texts but one were from Erik, the other from Hank.

"Are the messages yours, too?" Charles asked, teasing. It still thrilled him to see how parallel Erik's obsession ran to his own.

"I was worried," Erik said, shrugging. Charles' amusement immediately faded. Of course he'd been worried. Given everything that had happened, what else would he be?

"I'm sorry," Charles said, but Erik waved him off. Charles immediately changed the subject, even as he scrolled through his recent calls list. "Do we still have time for lunch?"

"Unfortunately I have my Critical Methods class this afternoon, and from the looks of it, you could probably do with another hour or so of sleep."

Erik was teasing him, Charles knew, but in lieu of the retort that was still sitting on the end of Charles' tongue, Charles fell quiet. Only two of the calls were from Erik, the third from Remy Lebeau, returning Charles' call. Erik, who had obviously noticed Charles' distraction, stepped forward until he was standing at Charles' side.

"I left a message with that lawyer this morning," Charles said. He put the phone on speaker and played the message.

_Charles Xavier. Scott said you'd be callin'. I got some time around 4:30 today. Why don't you come round and we'll have a little chat._

"That's Summers' lawyer?" Erik asked, clearly as skeptical as Charles.

"Apparently he comes highly recommended. I believe I heard Scott refer to him once as a magician."

Erik looked doubtful, but then, Charles wasn't exactly feeling too confident about it himself.

"Maybe this is a bad idea," Charles said, battling that same doubt from earlier. His mother's will was specific; surely there was no way he could contest it.

When Charles glanced up at Erik, he found him frowning. "I'm not going to pretend I know the whole story," and he didn't, Charles realized, something Charles suspected he ought to remedy, "but are you really going to let this guy take your money?"

He sounded angry, Charles realized, like Charles' step-father had personally offended him. Charles was momentarily stunned, his speech about money being irrelevant, about taking the higher road vanishing as he contemplated the fierce determination in Erik's expression.

"4:30 work for you?" he asked. Erik smiled.

"My class ends at 3:15 and then I'm all yours."

What else could Charles do save agree to go?

~*~

It was startling to turn from the whiteboard and find Charles [sitting amongst his students](http://www.nekosmuse.com/criticalmethods.jpg). Erik blinked, his train of thought momentarily lost as he tried to figure out where Charles had come from.

Charles had obviously been home since Erik had seen him last. He was showered, shaved and wearing different clothes. He looked impossible young. Erik stared at him for several seconds, until Charles lifted an eyebrow, several of Erik's students glancing curiously between them.

Well, he'd certainly just confirmed that rumour. It was nice to know his students were so invested in his love life.

Erik cleared his throat. "On Wednesday we will continue to use Jane Eyre as our model as we examine a semiotic approach to interpretation. Please ensure you have read the corresponding essays in the course notes."

The class wasn't scheduled to end for another ten minutes, so it was hardly surprising when his students blinked at him, clearly confused as to why they were being dismissed. Erik ignored them--tried to ignore Charles, too, though it was practically impossible, Charles a beacon, calling him from where he sat, impossibly out of place and yet looking like he owned the entire room. Erik packed away his notes, waiting until the first trickle of student began leaving the room to cross to Charles' side.

"You're very distracting, you know," he said. Charles chuckled.

"Yes, I gathered that when you kicked me out of your poetry class." Erik couldn't help but the grin that spread across his face. He rather missed having Charles in that class. Certainly he missed having someone who was willing to engage in elaborate, passionate conversations with him. They didn't tend to talk much about poetry these days; something Erik suspected was his fault. He'd gotten so caught up in Charles he'd forgotten what had brought them together.

"Do you read Bronte?" he asked when Charles fell in at his side, Erik leading them out of the room. Charles steps faltered, like he wasn't expecting the question, but when Erik glanced over Charles was grinning at him.

"If we're talking about Jane Eyre, then yes, I have read it, twice in fact. I'm not entirely prepared to say anything intelligent on the subject, but I did like it."

"I'm fairly certain anything you had to say on the subject would be intelligent, regardless of how prepared you were." Erik paused when they reached the exit, shrugging into the coat that until then had been hanging over his arm. When he was finished, he found Charles watching him curiously. "I like using Jane Eyre because it lends itself well to analysis, so it's a good model for teaching various methods of critical analysis. I like the book because it still seems so modern."

He was expecting to have to explain that statement--certainly he'd had to explain it to others over the years, most notably Raven, but Charles merely nodded his head and said, "Because its love story is timeless."

If Erik wasn't already falling in love with this man, he would have then.

"Yes, exactly, because at the core of it you have these two incredibly wounded people who heal one another simply by falling in love." It was oversimplified, and not at all something he would have said in a lecture, but Charles was still smiling, wide and happy, like he'd forgotten their intended errand, so Erik was glad he'd said it.

Sometime during their conversation they'd stepped outside and were now walking towards Brownie's, as though simultaneously deciding they had both the time and the need for coffee. Erik couldn't remember the last time he'd discussed literature with someone outside of a classroom setting. It was something he still associated with Shaw, because that was pretty much all Shaw had ever wanted to do. Erik had spent a good number of years after Shaw trying to repress his interest in the subject, but it had never waned, literature and poetry twin passions, and while they may have been fanned by Shaw, Erik had come to own them entirely.

"Don't laugh, but my favourite book has always been The Once and Future King," Charles said after they had bought their coffees and were once again outside.

Erik paused with his coffee halfway to his mouth. "That's a fantastic book, why would I laugh?"

Charles, who seemed inordinately pleased, smiled brightly, as though Erik had just paid him a tremendous compliment.

"I've always thought so, but my mother used to scoff whenever she saw me reading it. She used to call it tripe fantasy for young boys, unbefitting a family of our status." The more Erik heard of Charles' mother, the more he came to dislike her. He suspected, had he had the chance to meet her in person, they would have hated one another.

There wasn't anything Erik could say that wouldn't call attention to Charles' mother's passing, so he opted on sharing something from his childhood instead.

"It was one of the first books I read in English. I found a copy at a Trodelmarkt, but I didn't have any money, so I tucked it under my shirt." He'd stolen a little unicorn figurine for Raven, too, one she still had to this day.

"You stole it?" Charles sounded incredulous.

"I was fifteen," Erik said, like that excused it--and to be fair, it was hardly something Erik had made a habit of doing, the experience with the book and the unicorn so terrifying he'd never done it again.

Charles was chuckling under his breath. He looked delighted, like he'd just uncovered one of the universe's great mysteries. He was still laughing when they got out to Amsterdam Ave, his laughter not fading until after he'd hailed a cab and climbed into it.

It was inevitable, though, that sometime between leaving the school and arriving in Midtown, Charles' mood would shift. His smile fell and he took to staring blankly out the window at the passing scenery. There was something in his silence that Erik took as a plea for solitude, so Erik didn't speak--didn't try to force conversation--instead turning to stare out his own window, watching the city pass through a blur of passing cars.

If it had been him, he would have taken a bus or the subway, but he was quickly learning that Charles seemed to prefer cabs. There was something different about seeing the city from the backseat of a cab, Erik mesmerized by the tunnel like corridors of buildings. The entire city pulsed like a living thing, the ebb and flow it more apparent from the safe confines of the cab than it was when he was walking or travelling underground. It surprised him how quickly they arrived at their destination.

He let Charles pay, though only because Charles was keeping a receipt and intended to include the cost as part of his legal fees. Erik wasn't entirely familiar with how this whole process worked, especially not in America. His family had had nothing, and so Erik had never needed to worry about inheritance or lawyers or legal fees. This was an alien to him as poverty had undoubtedly been to Charles.

"I was expecting worse," Charles said when they were standing on the sidewalk outside the address on the card.

Erik wasn't sure what he was expecting--New York was like that, such a diverse city that it was almost better to approach every destination with minimal expectations. Remy Lebeau's office was inside a squat, four-story building, entirely modern and set against a towering high-rise condominium complex. The bottom floor hosted a Starbucks.

The street was narrow, one side entirely new construction--some still underway--the other a string of older buildings, mostly residential, a handful of storefronts occupying the street-level units. There was an expensive looking cafe directly across from the Starbucks. New York was an abundance of redundancy. Erik took Charles' now empty coffee cup from his hand and crossed to a trashcan outside the Starbucks. He pitched their cups, and then met Charles by the building's front doors.

They were early, though not by much, and Charles wasted no time leading them inside. The main entranceway led into a tiny hall, with a set of elevators along one wall, an entrance to the Starbucks on the other. A letter-board directory hung between the elevators. Erik scanned it, finding Lebeau's name listed on the fourth floor. Charles led them onto the elevator.

They found Lebeau's office tucked-away in a corner. It was little bigger than a closet. Erik was starting to see how he was able to afford what was obviously a prime office location. It was as though the architects had misjudged the layout and had ended up with useless corners they decided to convert into tiny offices to lease at a reasonable rate. There was barely enough room in the office for Lebeau's desk, let alone the two of them once Lebeau let them inside. After introductions--and Charles, after a brief moment of hesitation, had introduced Erik as his boyfriend, something that had caused Erik to puff out his chest in pride--they sat on ridged plastic chairs, elbows brushing. Lebeau moved to sit on the other side of his desk. He smiled broadly at them over its surface.

Lebeau was pretty much the exact opposite of what Erik thought a lawyer ought to look like. He had a mess of long hair that fell over his shoulders, and his eyes were blood-shot, like he'd had too little sleep or perhaps had spent too much of the previous night drinking. His clothes were flashy, his shirt silk, a shade of purple better suited to a nightclub than a lawyer's office. There was a deck of playing cards next to a bowl of Halloween candy, set on his otherwise empty desk.

"Umm..." Charles said.

Erik didn't blame him. Surely they could find someone else.

"Looks are deceiving, mon ami, and I assure you, Remy knows what he's doing." Lebeau smiled then, a mischievous grin that in any other circumstance would have set Erik on edge. Oddly, Charles seemed to relax upon seeing it.

"Indeed," he said, glancing at Erik. Erik knew immediately he was thinking back to their meeting, to the misunderstanding that had formed the foundation of their relationship.

"So this is what I know. Your father left his estate to your mother and your mother left the estate to your step-father and you got squeezed out. Now that's not so nice. I'm gonna get you to sign some forms so I can get copies of the wills, but in the meantime, you tell me what we're looking at here."

"Sorry, looking at?"

Erik felt like he was eavesdropping on a very personal conversation, save that Charles had asked him to be here. It still didn't lessen the urge to excuse himself; to slip out into the hall and wait for Charles to set things in motion.

"A dollar figure. I need to know what the estate is worth."

It was a fascinating thing, watching Charles flush--Erik wasn't used to seeing it outside the bedroom. Charles glanced briefly to Erik before he answered.

"The last estimate I heard was $3.9 billion."

Suddenly Erik understood Charles' awkwardness. He tried very hard not to choke on the dryness in his mouth. He failed miserably, falling into a coughing fit that instantly had Charles at his side, Charles rubbing the heel of his palm between Erik's shoulder blades. From behind his desk, Remy Lebeau watched them, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips.


	8. Chapter 8

_protection:_

 _is it  
hands intertwined?_

 _shoulders  
to cry upon?_

 _homes  
to create?_

 _monies  
to lend?_

[Protect, by Erik Lehnsherr, October, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/494755)

~*~

Charles hadn't wanted Erik to know just how much money Charles had come from. He knew what people thought when they learned who his family was; how much his family was worth. Spoiled little rich boy, coddled and catered to his entire life, with no work ethic and a blinding sense of entitlement--and those were the polite comments. He didn't want Erik to think of him in those terms. He'd spent the whole of his adult life without money. He knew what it meant to be poor. Charles had had to work exceptionally hard to get to where he was, and he hated people thinking he'd been given a free ride just because of his name.

And now Erik was staring at him like he believed all of those things; like Charles was somehow less in Erik's eyes simply because someone had attached a dollar figure to his name.

"Erik," Charles said, but Erik shook his head, holding up his hand.

"It's fine. Sorry, just a bit of a shock," he said. The smile he offered, which Charles suspected was meant to be reassuring, held only more uncertainty.

Remy LeBeau cleared his throat. It physically hurt to tear his gaze from Erik's face, but Charles managed it, meeting LeBeau's amused determination with a look of abject misery.

"I gettin' the sense you two need to talk, but let's get business out of the way first, oui?"

Erik hadn't fled from the room--in fact he was still staring at Charles--so Charles nodded his agreement, not particularly wanting to have the conversation he needed to have with Erik in front of an audience.

"What do you need?" Charles asked. LeBeau leaned across his desk, his expression considering.

"When your father die?"

"March, 1985." Charles couldn't remember the event, but the date was ingrained in his memory.

"And he leave the entire estate to your mother?"

Charles nodded. "Yes."

Lebeau tilted his head. "That be strange, mon ami. A man like your father," he said this like he'd known Charles' father even before Charles had made the appointment, which wasn't really a surprise--this was New York, after all. "A man like your father would keep good lawyers in his pocket. Good estate planners, too. Remy don't know anyone who'd advise such a thing."

Charles frowned at that. Estate law wasn't exactly his area of expertise--in fact, lawyers in general tended to leave Charles with a bad taste in his mouth, a by-product of a childhood spent watching his mother and stepfather welcome lawyers with more warmth than they'd ever shown him. Still, he'd talked to enough people about his situation--well, Moira and Hank and Scott, anyway--and no one had ever thought to question it.

"What are you saying?" Charles asked. LeBeau shrugged.

"Do you know the name of your father's firm; the ones that drew on up the will?"

Charles shook his head. It was a long time ago, and he was only a kid. LeBeau nodded, as though he'd expected the answer.

"Your mother's will, it specified everything was left to your stepfather?" LeBeau asked. Again he sounded skeptical.

Charles became aware then that Erik was watching him intently, still a little uncertain, as though this entire meeting had turned him on his head. Charles spared a second to meet his eye, some of his tension lessening when Erik offered an encouraging smile.

"I don't know the exact wording," Charles hadn't actually seen the will, "but I was told the estate went to me on the condition that I marry and produce an heir. If that condition was not met, it defaulted to my stepfather."

Charles had never seen someone's eyebrows disappear into their hairline before, but LeBeau's came close. Charles spared Erik a glance and found him staring at Charles, eyes wide with shock.

"I'm not a lawyer, but that can't be right," Erik said. Scott had said the same thing, the first time Charles had told him, but Charles had shown him the letter his stepfather had sent and the matter was dropped.

"I was sent a letter," Charles said. He still had that letter, in the bottom drawer of his dresser, alongside a good many things he was starting to think he ought to get rid of.

"I need to see that," LeBeau said. Charles glanced back at him. "I'm gonna messenger you some documents. Sign 'em and send 'em back, along with that letter. Trust Remy when he tells you you gonna win this fight."

LeBeau stuck his hand across the desk then, offering it first to Charles and then to Erik. There was something about the glint in his eyes that made Charles nervous. He had no idea what he had just agreed to, but he suspected he wasn't going to like it.

It wasn't until later, when he and Erik had stepped out of the building into approaching twilight, that Charles realized he'd just officially started the process of contesting his mother's will, and, if LeBeau was right, it was only a matter of time before Charles joined the ranks of New York's financial elite.

The idea sat like a heavy weight in his stomach, nausea creeping up the back of his throat until Charles was afraid he might choke on it.

"I don't want the money, you know," Charles said, because Erik still hadn't said anything--still looked shell-shocked, like he wasn't entirely certain what had just happened.

Erik, who had been walking steadily at Charles' side, stopped. He turned and caught Charles' eye, looking almost as lost as he had that time in his office when Charles had asked him out and he'd--reluctantly Charles knew now--refused.

"Come on," Erik said, reaching down to take Charles' good hand. The startling warmth of Erik's fingers intertwining with his own was almost enough to ease Charles' worry.

Erik tugged him back the way they had come and for a minute Charles thought he intended to lead them back to LeBeau's office, to allow Charles the opportunity to call the whole thing off--and Charles wanted to, he really, really did--but instead he led Charles into the Starbucks, remaining strangely silent as they stood in line. It was only once they had drinks in hand--Erik had ordered and Erik had paid--and had found a place to sit--a table tucked under a window, set away from the hustle and bustle of the after-work crowd--that Erik finally spoke.

"It's fine," he said again, but he still didn't sound very convincing. Charles opened his mouth, wanting to protest, but Erik didn't give him the chance. "It's just a lot to process, and I'm having a bit of a hard time understanding what the hell you're doing with me."

Charles' boggled at that, because did Erik really think Charles would, what? Lose interest simply because his financial fortunes looked set to change?

"Erik, I don't want this money. I never have. I've been living without it my entire adult life, and if I have to choose between you and it, well, there's no contest."

Erik's eyes widened perceptibly. He seemed set to speak, but every time he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He shook his head then, taking a sip of his cappuccino before finally getting out, "Don't be ridiculous, of course you don't have to choose."

Charles still wanted to. Instead he nodded, still not entirely convinced Remy LeBeau would accomplish anything--save perhaps running Charles into debt, his council undoubtedly expensive.

Their conversation did little to ease the heavy silence that had settled around them. The enormity of what he'd just done--what he'd just started--weighed heavily upon him. Charles wanted nothing more than to turn back time, to return to the moment before he'd learned of his mother's death, when it was just him and Erik and this new thing between them filling Charles with giddy delight.

Charles exhaled. He took a sip of his coffee--found it tasted like cardboard--and then set the cup down on the table. His hand was shaking.

"Charles," Erik said, reaching across the table to cover Charles' hand, his earlier uncertainty replaced by open worry. Charles offered a forced smile.

"I'm fine. Fine," he said, but Erik wouldn't hear it. He stood, pulling his coat tight before he once again reached for Charles' hand. This time he wrapped his fingers around it and tugged Charles to his feet.

"Come home with me, spend the night," Erik said. It wasn't an invitation.

Charles still nodded his acceptance.

~*~

 _Raven Interlude_

There weren't many kids in the building--that Raven knew of anyway--but there was still a notice pinned up in the lobby outlining the building's rules for trick-or-treating. No child was permitted to go door to door anywhere inside the building. Candy would be given out by the doorman in the front lobby, a limit of five pieces per child while quantities lasted. Apparently, from what the doorman told her--and Raven hadn't asked--this was pretty standard procedure in this neighbourhood, a line of children trucking from building to building accepting candy from doormen and store-fronts.

He'd gone on to tell her that he knew a lot of buildings that permitted indoor trick-or-treating, a better deal for the kids, because instead of getting five pieces of candy, they got dozens. Raven couldn't imagine any parent allowing a child to accept treats from random strangers, but then, Raven was naturally suspicious. The whole holiday seemed like a colossally bad idea.

To avoid having to deal with any nightmarish children, Raven made sure she ran her few errands in the afternoon, getting home well before the sun set. Erik had called to say he was seeing a lawyer with Charles this afternoon, and would undoubtedly be home late, so Raven had the apartment to herself. She made good use of her time.

She'd gone to the [MUD](http://www.mudshop.com) shop--ridiculous that they had a store and a school--and had bought a make-up kit. Nothing fancy--she'd wanted the 101 kit, which she would undoubtedly have to buy if she decided to attend the school, but $1,280 was more than a little out of her price range. She still had no idea how she was going to manage to come up with tuition. The entire idea was beginning to seem more and more like a pipe dream.

She set the kit down on the coffee table, pausing only long enough to make herself a cup of tea--Erik would forever proclaim that she was hopeless when it came to cooking, but she could make tea, and damned good tea at that, unlike Erik who always scalded the water and didn't add enough bags to the pot. Raven had always thought it psychosomatic; Erik's inability to make tea undoubtedly stemmed from Shaw, who had drunk nothing but. For the longest time after Erik had forbidden teabags in the house. Raven had had to hide a box in her closet for whenever she wanted a cup--and then only when Erik was away from home.

The problem with having a make-up kit was that she didn't have a model. She could probably buy a mannequin head--although that might be a little creepy, Raven not entirely certain she wanted a lifeless head floating around the apartment. It was either that or she would just have to come up with some way to convince Erik to let her practice on him.

She tried to picture it--she really did--the thought of Erik sitting patiently while she applied eyeliner enough to start her giggling.

Raven was still giggling as she broke through the packaging and opened her kit. The thing opened like an accordion. It was filled with more make-up than Raven knew what to do with. There were foundations and blushes and eye shadows and liners. There were mascaras and lipsticks and powders. She could probably go into business for herself--find some vacant street corner and offer make-up sittings for $10.00 a pop. The thought made her skin crawl.

It was the one thing she was going to need to work on, because if she was going to do this then she needed to get comfortable touching people. Coming up with tuition was easy next to overcoming a lifetime of issues.

The thought was almost enough to make her put the kit away--maybe she could take it back, demand a full refund, the makeup unused--when she heard the familiar sound of Erik's keys in the door. She could touch Erik. Touching Erik was like touching herself--Raven was indifferent to it. She smiled brightly as he pushed through the door.

"Will you let me do your makeup?" she asked, only then realizing that Charles had followed Erik inside. She glanced between them, knowing instantly something was wrong.

Charles looked exhausted, but more than that, his entire countenance radiated despair. Erik looked just as distraught, like he was about to lose his most valued possession--and knowing Erik as she did, that meant either her or Charles. A brief flare of panic clutched at Raven's chest, and she wondered if this was somehow Shaw's doing. Erik had told her what had happened between them the first night Erik had spent with Charles. He had worried then that Shaw would find some way to extract revenge. Was that what had happened?

"What happened?" she asked, standing and moving to the other side of the coffee table. Too late she realized this was probably related to Charles' mother--and she hadn't even offered her condolences.

Erik shook his head. The smile that tugged at his lips was fond, if lacking enthusiasm. He opened his mouth to respond, but to Raven's surprise, it was Charles who answered.

"I just engaged the services of a lawyer to contest my mother's will, and if I succeed, I stand to inherit 3.9 billion dollars. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to use your washroom."

Raven watched--eyes wide, mind blown, $3.9 billion a staggering amount of money--as Charles all but fled towards the bathroom. Erik reached out as if to touch, hesitance and something Raven recognized as helplessness reflected in his eyes. As soon as Charles vanished he deflated, turning then to catch her eye.

"You didn't tell me he was loaded," Raven said. She knew as soon as it came out that it was the wrong thing to say, Erik's expression falling. He looked like she'd just socked him in the stomach. Raven frowned.

"It's not the money," Erik said.

Raven, who knew Erik better than she had ever known anyone, knew in an instant what it was. Erik would never begrudge Charles something that was rightfully his. It wasn't that Charles stood to inherit that kind of money. It was that once Charles had that money Erik would assume himself unworthy.

"Oh, Erik, don't," Raven said, because it was painfully obvious to see the way Charles looked at her brother.

She loved Erik dearly, she did, but there were times--and this was one of them--when he was the biggest moron on the planet.

She would have said something more--called him an idiot and told him to talk to Charles, damn it--but the toilet flushed, the sound of running water heralding Charles' return. Erik stepped back, running his hands through his hair. When Charles stepped out of the bathroom, he looked marginally put together, and far less green than he had when he went in. He smelled faintly of toothpaste.

"Sorry about that," he said.

Raven glanced between them. They seemed to have forgotten she was even there; too busy staring at one another, avoiding the conversation they so obviously needed to have. She glanced to the window, shade drawn.

The things she did for Erik.

Raven cleared her throat. Erik jumped, and then glanced over, startled.

"I am going to go grab some take-out from that place down the street. I will be back in forty minutes. I suggest the two of you either talk or have sex while I'm gone. Personally, I'm voting for talk, but seeing as you're both idiots, I'm going to guess it'll be sex. Try to finish before I get back."

She didn't wait for a reply, Erik still staring at her in startled surprise--he knew she hated leaving the house on Halloween, especially after dark. She grabbed her coat and shoes and slipped out before either of them could get a word in edgewise.

Despite her resolve, it still took her three tries to push the elevator's down button.

~*~

Erik hadn't lied. It wasn't the money. It was the thought of what Charles would do once he had that money, because how could a man accustomed to that life--to wealth and prestige and society--ever be content with someone like Erik?

 _I pulled you out of the gutter, my boy. You should be grateful,_ Shaw used to say, and no matter how much Erik wished he could disregard everything that man had told him, that much, at least, he knew was true. His parents had been poor, and the foster homes he'd bounced through had been poor, and when he'd finally gotten out on his own he, too, had been poor.

It was only in the last eight years or so that he'd started making enough to live comfortably, and even then it was hardly the lavish lifestyle Charles was no doubt accustomed to. What could he ever give Charles that Charles didn't already have?

Charles was watching him now, still looking as gutted as Erik felt.

Part of him still wanted to go after Raven--she shouldn't have left and if anything happened to her because of him he'd never forgive himself--but he also knew that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, and that any attempts at coddling would be met with fierce objection. Besides, Charles was still watching him and Erik couldn't bring himself to leave.

He felt suffocated under the weight of the last few days, incapable of finding a way to fix whatever it was that was broken. Erik did the only thing he knew how to do. He reached for Charles. Charles came willingly into his arms.

"I don't want this to come between us," Charles said. Erik pressed their foreheads together.

"It won't," he said, feelings some of Charles' tension lessen.

He tugged at Charles then, leading him not to the bedroom, but to the couch--a violation of Raven's rules but Erik didn't want to leave the soft light of the living room. He sat first, pulling Charles down onto his lap, never once breaking the contact between them. Charles' hands came to rest on Erik's shoulders.

 _I wanted to take care of you_ , Erik wanted to say. As if in answer, Charles tilted his head, brushing first their noses together, and then their lips.

It occurred to Erik then that he could still do that, though perhaps not in the same way that he took care of Raven. He could make Charles happy, because after hearing about his childhood, Erik suspected no one had ever bothered trying to make Charles happy. He nipped at Charles' lips, Charles pulling back, clearly surprised. Erik let his smile grow genuine.

"I've never done this before," he said. Charles narrowed his eyes, clearly confused by the sudden shift in Erik's mood. "Made out on the couch," Erik clarified. "It's against the rules."

Charles lifted an eyebrow. His featured had softened; relief and gratitude and something Erik very much wanted to hope was love shining in his eyes. "Rules?" he asked.

"Raven's rules. She's very particular about cleanliness."

Charles chuckled at that. Erik smiled to hear it.

"Well, in that case, we ought to be quick."

He loved how willing Charles was to shift gears--how quickly they could go from despondency to giddiness. It didn't change everything that had happened--Charles' mother was still dead and Erik would never fit into the lifestyle Charles' fortune would facilitate--but for the moment Erik could forget that, could concentrate instead on kissing a line down Charles' throat.

They'd done this on Friday, sat on the edge of Charles' bed, Charles straddling Erik's lap like he was now, Erik trailing kisses along the same path. Erik liked the position--liked the feel of Charles looming above him, looking down on him like he could devour Erik with his eyes. He liked Charles' weight, too, tethering him to the couch, making him feel grounded in a way this thing between them did not.

It was too much like Friday, though, the grief and agony in Charles' eyes still too raw--too real--so Erik shifted, pulling a startled Charles sideways, and then lowering him down onto the couch. Erik moved to, coming to settle between his legs, never once taking his lips from Charles' throat.

 _Finally_ , Charles muttered, though Erik had no idea what he was talking about. Had he really fantasized about having sex on Erik's couch? Erik smiled at the thought, shifting forward so that their clothed cocks rubbed together. Charles hissed and spread his legs, ankles looping over the backs of Erik's thighs, locking them together to hold Erik in place.

Erik bit the tendon at the side of Charles' neck.

"I wanted to buy you a brownstone," Erik whispered into Charles' ear. And that was the crux of it. He'd wanted to give Charles a home; to have concrete proof that Charles was his.

Charles laughed; a breathless chuckle that dissolved into a moan. He canted his hips even as he reached between them and began pulling at Erik's belt.

"Maybe I'll buy you one," he said.

Erik stilled. It was like being doused with a bucket of cold water. His hips stopped moving, arms shaking as he pulled back. Charles shook his head.

"Or not. Sorry, I just thought..."

Erik realized then that he was being unfair, that he hadn't actually explained this to Charles--and how was Charles expected to know, to understand, if Erik didn't tell him? The thought of doing so filled him with dread, but Erik still pushed back, a look of panic crossing Charles' features until Erik reached for him, pulling him up so that they sat face to face, the position far more intimate than anything they had done so far.

"Erik..." Charles began, but Erik shushed him with a kiss. Charles went very, very still.

"I've been a kept man. I don't want to do that again."

Belatedly it occurred to him that he was the world's biggest hypocrite, because he didn't want to be kept by Charles, but he wanted to keep Charles, and what did that make him? Just because Charles wasn't a student didn't mean Erik wasn't in danger of becoming the thing he feared most of all. Was he really no better than Shaw?

When he caught Charles' eye, he knew immediately that Charles had put the pieces together.

"How old were you?" he asked, suspicion and something Erik thought might be anger bleeding into his tone.

Erik could have lied--he could have put off the entire conversation--but he found he didn't want to. "Seventeen," he said. Charles' jaw clenched.

For the longest time he didn't say anything, Erik not entirely certain how he had so thoroughly managed to derail this entire thing. He wanted to go back and start again, to not say anything; to kiss Charles and touch Charles until Charles was panting and moaning beneath him.

"I usually abhor violence, but if I ever see Sebastian Shaw again, I am going to beat him senseless."

Erik was shaking his head even before Charles finished speaking. "He's not worth it," he said, and for the first time in perhaps his entire adult life, Erik realized that was true.

"You know I don't want to keep you, Erik. And I don't want you to keep me. I was rather hoping we could be equals; partners."

There was preciously little Erik could say to that. He'd never been someone's equal before. He'd certainly never had an equal before. He rather liked the sound of it, so he smiled, reached for Charles and drew him into another kiss. Charles responded enthusiastically, pulling at Erik until they were once again sprawled across the sofa, Erik nestled between Charles' legs. He'd just gotten a hand inside Charles' shirt, Charles hissing at the contact, arching into Erik's hand like he was desperate for Erik's touch, when Erik heard a key turn in the lock.

He had just enough time to pull away from Charles' neck and glance over his shoulder before Raven was stepping back into the apartment, brown paper bag clutched to her chest. She froze inside the entranceway, staring at them as Erik scrambled to detangle himself from Charles' legs.

"We didn't..."

"Seriously," Raven interjected. "I gave you," she looked at her watch, "forty-three minutes and you decided humping on my couch was a better alternative to having sex in your bedroom?" There was something about Raven's expression, her eyes pinched around the corners, that told Erik her frustration wasn't directed at him--though she did look more than a little peeved to find them on _her couch_.

"We talked," Erik tried, because they had--and it was probably one of the most open, honest conversations he'd had with anyone, Raven and his shrink included.

"I hope so," Raven said. She toed off her shoes then and padded into the kitchen, setting the paper bag down on the counter before retrieving a couple of plates. "Are you two eating, or should I turn the television up and attempt to drown you out while you retreat to your _bedroom_ to finish what you've started?"

Erik glanced at Charles and found Charles blushing--it was quite possibly the most entrancing thing he had ever seen, and he wanted more than anything to grab Charles by the arm and physically drag him back to the bedroom. Instead he shook his head.

"We'll eat."

Raven's answering smile was somehow sly. Erik cocked his head.

"You broke house rules," she said, nodding to the couch. "As punishment, you have to sit as my model."

It took Erik several seconds to figure out what she was talking about, Raven nodding to the make-up kit sitting on the coffee table. Erik's eyes grew wide, and he started to shake his head, but when he glanced at Charles he found Charles watching him with an arched eyebrow, looking more than a little thrilled by the prospect.

What other choice did Erik have?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains what could be viewed as a dubious consent (though mostly due to Erik's head-space) and past, non graphic reference to both noncon and dubcon.
> 
> Huge thank you to Palalife for the art in this chapter. I literally don't have words. Thank you.

  


_defined  
patterns_

_carved standards,  
rules._

_only:_

_is that  
all?_

_should it  
stand_

_separate  
outside_

_or_

_inside  
confined?_

[Control, by Erik Lehnsherr, November, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/497872)

~*~

Charles reached for the patatas bravas. He popped a potato into his mouth.

It turned out the place down the street was a Spanish restaurant. Raven had returned with an assortment of tapas and two cartons of paella. They were eating in the living room, Charles and Erik on the couch, plates cradled in their laps, while Raven sat cross-legged on the floor. She alternated between picking food off her plate and texting someone on her iPhone.

"Azazel," she said when Erik asked. She laughed at something she read on her screen.

There was something decidedly domestic about the entire arrangement. Charles rather liked it. It was amazing, too, how much better he felt, Erik a warm weight at his side, Raven's laughter light and familiar. This, Charles suspected, was what it meant to have family. Growing up, Charles would have traded the whole of his family's fortune for this.

"Is Azazel working tonight?" he asked once he had swallowed.

He traded his empty plate for his wine glass--a spicy Syrah that perfectly complimented the food. Erik, it turned out, enjoyed a good vintage; had a tiny wine rack he kept in the coolest, darkest part of the apartment. Upon seeing it, Charles had had the sudden urge to take Erik to Westchester; to let him explore his father's old cellar.

In response to Charles' question, Raven nodded. "He's texting me descriptions of some of the more outlandish costumes. Apparently someone came dressed as a playboy bunny, except, in addition to the skimpy lingerie, the guy also glued fake fur to every inch of his exposed skin. An ambulance picked up him an hour ago--allergic reaction."

Charles chuckled at that. He'd attended more than his share of Halloween parties--had worn more than his share of outrageous costumes. During his time at Oxford, [a priest costume](http://nekosmuse.com/goofydance.gif) had landed him ten phone numbers and an invitation to his very first threesome.

Probably not something he should be remembering fondly, Charles realized, glancing somewhat sheepishly in Erik's direction. Given Erik's frequent displays of possessiveness, Charles didn't think he'd appreciate the story.

"Is he stopping by later?" Charles asked. He liked talking to Raven. It felt like he'd known her his entire life, like they'd grown up together, Raven as easy to talk to as Moira.

"He has to close up tonight," Raven said, shrugging like it didn't matter either way, but Charles could tell she was disappointed.

He felt Erik shift a little closer, sympathy for Raven's plight. Charles reached over and patted his knee, earning a snort and an eye roll from Raven.

"Do you two want to be alone?" she asked.

Part of Charles wanted to say yes--to drag Erik back to his bedroom and finish what they'd started earlier--but part of him was terrified they'd end up lapsing back into silence. Raven's presence was a balm. More often than not it was her who had directed tonight's conversation.

Charles decided the best course of action was simply to delay the decision. He stood abruptly, Raven's eyebrows inching up while Erik glanced curiously in his direction.

"Sorry, too much wine," Charles said, gesturing to the bathroom. It was somewhat thrilling to see the look of disappointment that crossed Erik's face. Charles came very close to changing his mind.

Except that he actually had to go. It had been a while, he realized, and while emptying the contents of his stomach into Erik's toilet had been pleasant--if only because it had eased his nausea--it had done nothing for his bladder.

Raven was saying something as Charles disappeared behind the bathroom door, though he was too far away to make out what it was. He tried to be quick, but by the time he returned to the living room, Raven had moved from the floor to the couch and Erik was in the kitchen, standing over the sink. Charles spared a moment to admire the line of his backside before moving to join Raven on the couch. When he sat next to her, she gave him a considering look.

"What?" Charles said, thinking perhaps he had something stuck in his teeth--he could have sworn he'd checked. Raven narrowed her eyes.

"Do you mind if I?" she reached out a hand towards him, fingers hovering next to his cheek. Thinking she meant to wipe something away, Charles nodded. It was somewhat of a shock to have Raven press two fingers into his flesh, like she was checking for ripeness.

Charles' tentative smile turned into a confused frown.

"Um..." he got out, but by then Raven had already pulled her hand away.

"Sorry, just seeing if I could touch you," she said, which was easily the strangest thing anyone had ever said to Charles. When he glanced into the kitchen, he found Erik watching them. In place of the possessive indignation Charles was expecting, Erik appeared genuinely pleased, like Raven had done something spectacular.

Charles had no idea what to make of that. Raven glanced over her shoulder to catch Erik's eye.

"Apparently I'm fine with him living with us," she said. Charles' eyes grew wide. So did Erik's smile.

"In that case," Erik said, "you can use him as your model." He chuckled to himself, giving Charles a wide grin before turning back to the dishes.

Charles glanced from Erik to Raven, and then followed Raven's gaze to the make-up kit on the coffee table. Charles' mouth fell open.

"I'm not sure if that's..." he began, but Raven looked positively thrilled. Charles glanced back into the kitchen and found Erik still occupied with clean up.

He remembered then the pride and excitement in Erik's voice when he'd told Charles about Raven's intentions to go back to school. Helping her foster that interest was the least he could do, especially after everything she'd done for him. Besides, he couldn't see any harm in letting her practice. Charles' nod was still somewhat reluctant.

Raven beamed at him. When Charles glanced back into the kitchen he found Erik watching them over his shoulder, hands still submerged in soapy water--and given that they'd used all of three plates, Charles knew he was dragging dish washing out, undoubtedly using it as an excuse to escape Charles' fate.

"Stay put," Raven said, drawing Charles' attention back to her. She disappeared down the hall, returning a minute later with a wet, warm washcloth and a bottle of moisturizer.

"Wash and moisturize," she said, handing both items to Charles.

Charles did as instructed, listening to Raven explain the importance of a solid base. In the kitchen, Erik had given up the pretense of washing dishes. He was now leaned over the island, watching intently, seeming entirely too amused. Charles shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted--he would do anything, including let Raven slather him in make-up if it meant seeing that look of happiness on Erik's face. The smile that tugged at Erik's lips was as pleased as it was smug. It was a definite improvement over the lost expression Erik had worn earlier that day; and anything was better than thinking about his mother and her estate and the possibility of Erik not being able to reconcile himself to that kind of wealth.

"I get to be here when she does this to you," Charles said, earning a laugh and a nod, Erik settling further against the counter, enraptured now.

Raven's fingers, startlingly cold, found his chin. She tilted Charles' face towards the light.

"Try not to move," she said. Charles nodded, earning a glare for already disobeying her instructions.

"Sorry," he tried, but Raven merely shook her head, coated a sponge in foundation, and then reached for him.

This wasn't the first time Charles had worn make-up. Some of those Halloween costumes had involved elaborate face-paint, and he'd attended several pride parades in drag--partly because he could, though mostly because it had pissed off his mother. Some distant part of him thought he ought to feel guilty for that now. Instead, sitting for Raven, allowing her to trace the contours of his eyes with liner, he felt strangely liberated.

He had no idea how long it lasted, the experience surreal and yet oddly relaxing. For the longest time he drifted, mind wandering from topic to topic. He thought about his work, and about Erik, and about his new lawyer. He thought about what he might do with his mother's money--give it all away came immediately to mind. He thought about throwing Moira a lavish wedding--she'd let him, he knew. He thought about never having to apply for another research grant again--he could work on anything that struck his fancy, entirely self-financed. He thought about buying Erik and Raven that brownstone Erik had mentioned.

Mostly he sat, acutely aware of Raven's steady breathing and the weight of Erik's gaze from where he stood, so impossibly still in the kitchen.

"You can open your eyes now," Raven said at some point, Charles blinking against the sudden light, feeling then like he'd just woken up from a long and thoroughly relaxing nap. Erik had moved from the kitchen and was now standing at Raven's back, watching Charles' face intently. His eyes were wide, twin spots of colour dotting his cheeks. His pupils were completely blown. Charles swallowed, wanting then to see what Erik was seeing--wanting then to call an end to this entire thing so that he could take Erik somewhere a little more private.

[Raven had finished lining his lips and was filling them in, tiny brush moving expertly over his bow](http://palalife.tumblr.com/post/15218002968/based-on-loves-own-crown-ch-9-by-nekomuse-and). Charles couldn't seem to tear his gaze from Erik's face. There was something in Erik's expression--something almost feral--that set Charles' heart fluttering. It knocked against his ribcage, the sound of blood rushing in his ears almost thunderous. Raven was an awkward presence in the room.

"Obviously, I'd have to make it thicker for stage," she said as she pulled back, startling Charles back into the moment. He glanced in her direction. She was wielding a lip brush like it was a sword, Charles startled to notice she'd chosen a bright, cherry red for his colour. He glanced back to Erik.

It was impossible to describe the expression Erik was wearing, but Charles could easily divine its meaning. He licked at his lips, tasting wax. Erik's mouth fell open. Raven, who was busy cleaning up her kit, glanced between them, only then realizing what was going on.

"Ew, guys, seriously," she said. She stood then, tucking her kit under her arm. "Not that I'm not glad I could facilitate..." she gestured between them, shook her head and then all but fled from the room. Charles had never seen a faster retreat. He felt his cheeks heat, undoubtedly adding to the colour already there. When he glanced to Erik, he found Erik looking more than a little sheepish, though so obviously aroused he didn't seem particularly bothered by it.

"So this is a thing for you," Charles said, smiling. He had to admit, it was somewhat of a surprise. Erik, who was still staring at Charles like he wanted to devour him, coloured, but his gaze didn't waver. He extended a hand.

Charles took it, somewhat surprised because the last time they were here--while Raven was here--Erik had outright refused to do anything until she had left. Apparently Erik was now willing to violate his rules. Charles made a mental note to wear make-up more often.

Erik led Charles down the hall. They passed Raven's closed bedroom door, the unmistakable sound of television resonating through the wood, but Erik didn't hesitate. He tugged Charles into his bedroom and closed the door behind them, but instead of dragging Charles to the bed--which Charles was half expecting--Erik brought him into the tiny bathroom and positioned Charles in front of the mirror.

[It was a somewhat startling thing to see](http://nekosmuse.com/makeup.jpg). Even with an afternoon's worth of scruff, there was something very delicate about his features when highlighted by eyeliner and lipstick. Charles felt like he was looking at a stranger. He barely recognized the reflection staring back at him.

"Do you see?" Erik asked, voice a low whisper in his ear. Even as he spoke he ran the tip of his nose around the shell of Charles' ear. Charles shivered, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat. He nodded.

Erik's breath was warm and moist against the back of Charles' ear, Charles' skin erupting into gooseflesh at the sensation. In the mirror, he saw Erik smirk. Erik caught his eye, watching Charles' reflection intently as he leaned forward and took Charles' earlobe into his mouth. He kept his eyes open as he sucked, hard.

Charles' legs went a little rubbery, but before they could give out completely, Erik caught him around the waist, pulling Charles so that he was plastered against Erik's front. Charles' vision whited.

This is what they'd been building to on the couch. He'd hoped it would happen--certainly he wanted it to happen--but he'd resigned himself to waiting, to taking his time, to accepting that it might not happen. How he thought he'd ever survive not doing this, he didn't know, especially now that Erik was rocking into him, erection pressed tight against Charles' ass, one hand holding fast to Charles' stomach while the other stroked him through his pants. His mouth was still latched to Charles' earlobe, teeth tugging against it. The sensation teetered on the edge of painful. It made Charles dizzy with want.

He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, but Erik was still watching him through the mirror, so Charles didn't dare close them. Through the wall, he heard the soft strains of what was undoubtedly some reality television show. Charles swallowed a moan. Erik pulled back, letting go of Charles' earlobe with a wet pop. He smiled at Charles through the mirror, obviously pleased by Charles' attempts at silence.

"God, you have no idea how incredible you look, do you?" he said, still speaking in a whisper. Charles whimpered.

It was worth it for Erik's reprimand, a sharp bite to the side of Charles' neck, Erik's smile shifting to something much more dangerous--something Charles had never seen before but found he very much liked.

Erik reached for Charles' belt.

Charles' eyes grew wide. In the mirror, highlighted by eye liner, they seemed impossibly large. Were they really going to do this here? Inside Erik's tiny bathroom? Right next to the wall Erik shared with Raven's room?

It seemed unthinkable. It was also probably the hottest thing that had ever happened to Charles. There was something about Erik--something so sharply different from how he usually approached their encounters--that had ratcheted Charles' arousal to near fever pitch. His Erik was so precise and so careful--so thoroughly reverent. This Erik was reckless, consumed by his arousal. Gone was Erik's usually hesitance, replaced by fierce determination. He pulled Charles' belt from its loops and tossed it to the ground. The buckle clinked against the tile floor.

~*~

A distant part of Erik's brain was screaming at him, asking him what the hell he thought he was doing. Erik ignored it--just like he ignored the teeth-filled smile that floated on the periphery of his memory. Charles was stunning like this. It was every fantasy Erik had ever wanted to have but had steadily refused himself over these past few weeks. It was Charles, undone, looking entirely debauched, his irises all but obliterated by his pupils, eyes framed by smudges of black, lips plump and swollen and red. Erik could seem to stop staring, watching Charles' reflection as though somewhere, written in that mirror image, he could find all the answers.

He wanted Charles in ways he had never wanted anyone, and if the swell of Charles' erection, straining against the cotton of his underwear, was any indication, then Charles wanted him too. Erik gave a final tug on Charles' pants, entranced by the sight of them pooling around Charles' ankles, trapping him where he stood.

Normally Erik would have asked--that distant part of his brain was telling him to ask--but Erik was beyond vocalization.

The back of Charles' neck was distracting him again--that damned freckle--Erik tearing his gaze from the mirror to place a kiss against it even as he palmed Charles through his underwear. Charles rocked back into him, Erik more than happy to rut against him, to feel the swell of Charles' buttock pressing firm against Erik's erection. Erik kissed his way across Charles' neck, into his hairline, then down to the curve of his shoulder. He couldn't seem to stop from nipping. By the time he was done, Charles' neck was a mess of red and purple, skin shiny from Erik's saliva.

Erik couldn't remember ever feeling so out of control. The sudden impulse to push Charles down, to bend him over the sink and rub against him until they were both coming was as shocking as it was visceral. Only that distant part of his brain--more insistent now--kept him from doing exactly that.

Instead he reached for Charles' underwear and drew them down, too, letting them pool inside Charles' pants. It left Charles in only his shirt, cardigan abandoned during their make-out session on the couch. It hung over Charles' hips, obscuring his backside, so Erik wrenched it up, tucking it under Charles' arms.

Charles leaned forward of his own accord, elbows coming to rest on the edges of the pedestal sink.

Erik's brain short-circuited.

Is this what all of his previous partners had felt when they had Erik bent over, on display for their pleasure and their pleasure alone? Charles' reflection looked nothing like Erik would have imagined. There was no hesitation, no discomfort; only want and a keen sense of _now_. The distant part of Erik's brain retreated. Erik placed a hand on Charles' ass cheek and pulled, eyes fixed on Charles' crack as it widened.

Charles canted back his hips, rocking up until he was opened wide enough for Erik to make out his anus. Is this what Charles wanted? For the first time in Erik's life he thought he might actually be capable of this. Certainly he wanted it--wanted to sink into Charles until there was nothing between them. He hazarded a glance back into the mirror and found Charles watching him, eyes still blown by lust, mouth open as he panted. Some of his lipstick had smudged, leaving a red trail across Charles' chin. His mascara was beginning to run, leaving black shadows beneath his eyes.

It was the most beautiful thing Erik had ever seen.

Cautiously, he placed his thumb against the base of Charles' spine. Charles let out the tiniest of moans, enough to bolster Erik's confidence. He ran the thumb down, dipping into Charles' crack, not stopping until he'd reached Charles' hole. Charles pushed back against him.

Oh, God, how many times had Shaw done this to him--how many times had he vowed he would never violate someone like this--and yet here Charles was, rocking into him, like he was trying to fuck himself down onto Erik's thumb. Erik had never before felt as powerful as he did in this moment. It terrified him. He removed his hand. Charles whined.

"Please," he said, sounding so utterly desperate that what was left of Erik's rational thought fled.

Instead of retreating back--which had been his plan--Erik leaned forward, until he was plastered against Charles' back, Charles bent pleasantly beneath him.

"What are you doing to me?" he managed, whispering into Charles' ear. Charles shuddered, pushing his hips even further back, until Erik's still clothed cock settled neatly between Charles' cheeks.

"Please," he said again. It seemed to be the only word he was capable of saying. Erik removed one of the hands holding Charles' waist and reached for the medicine cabinet.

He hadn't planned this--of course he hadn't planned this--but fate had brought them here, to the exact place where Erik stored the condoms and lube he'd bought last week. Charles groaned when he saw what Erik was retrieving. He shifted, squirming slightly, and it took Erik a second to realize Charles was spreading his legs as wide as his pooled pants would allow.

The few coherent thoughts that Erik had left--like the one that suggested maybe Charles would be more comfortable in a bed--vanished. Erik fumbled to coat two of his fingers in lube.

Oh, God, was he actually going to do this?

At least he knew what he was doing here. He'd paid close attention the last time Charles had fucked him--yesterday, that was yesterday, he remembered. He knew how to do this without hurting Charles.

The part of his brain that kept trying to usurp this--the one that reared its ugly head whenever he caught a glimpse of Charles in the mirror--wanted desperately just to slick his cock and thrust it inside. Instead Erik brought slippery fingers back to Charles' ass and began rubbing delicate circles around his hole.

Charles mewed. There was really no other word for it. The sound went straight to Erik's cock. His erection had started to wane as the full realization of what he was about to do hit, but if Charles kept making noises like that, kept saying things like _Oh, God_ , and _Yes_ , and _Fucking finally_ , Erik was pretty sure he wasn't going to have a problem for long.

He glanced up again, intent on catching Charles' eye in the mirror and asking--physically asking no matter how hard that was--if he was sure, but the image he was met with was so overwhelming--so stunning-- that it stole Erik's breath. Charles looked--obscene. There was no other word for it. His shirt was still pushed up under his armpits, high enough that one of his nipples showed; a stiff peak that Erik wanted to bite and suck at. His supported himself on one elbow and one arm, body bent so that Erik had an unobstructed view of his cock, hard and leaking precome all over the side of Erik's sink. His pupils were fully dilated; eyes a mess of black make-up, and his lips--so very red--were swollen from where he'd been biting them. He looked drugged. He looked debauched. He looked so very, very fuckable.

Without really realizing what he was doing, Erik pressed two fingers inside. He watched Charles' reflection, utterly captivated as Charles' eyes grew wide, mouth falling open into a wide 'o' of surprise.

Erik bit his lip and pushed his fingers further inside. Charles keened.

Through the wall, the sound of Raven's television set grew louder. Even that did nothing to ease Erik's ardour. The memory of having been on the receiving end of this once--though over a desk instead of a sink--came close to derailing him, but then Charles pushed back, swearing under his breath, _Erik_ falling from his lips like an entreaty to God. Shaw was instantly banished.

"Is this what you want?" Erik made himself ask, even as he scissored his fingers inside of Charles. A distant part of him hoped Charles said no--wanted Charles to say no--Erik completely out of control, like he was piloting a crashing plane, with no hope for a safe landing. He pulled his fingers part way out and added a third, just like Charles had done for him.

"If you do not fuck me sometime soon, I am going to spontaneously combust," Charles gritted out. He sounded debased. It made Erik want to hook his fingers inside, so he did, pulling back slightly until Charles had no choice but to come to him.

"Erik..."

There was no missing the warning in Charles' voice; no missing the entreaty, either. He wasn't ready, the distant part of Erik's brain said. The part of his brain alternating between watching Charles in the mirror and watching his fingers slide in and out of Charles' ass was more than fine with the idea.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand.

It took several tries to get his pants open, several more to get the condom wrapper open, hands slick with lube. It took even longer to get the damned condom on, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He used what was likely far too much lube, but reasoned too much was better than too little. _Please be sure_ , Erik thought, wrapping one hand--still shaking--around Charles' hip, using the other to line himself up at Charles' hole.

Time stopped moving. The whole of the night compressed down to this single moment, Erik frozen on the edge of penetrating Charles. _I can't_ , he thought, the men he'd known who had done this--Shaw and that damned asshole who used to hurt Raven--no one he ever wanted to be associated with. It occurred to him then that Charles had done this--several times now--and there was nothing ugly in the way Charles slid inside him, slow and gentle, rocking against him until Erik's toes curled. He could do this. He could make Charles feel that slow, delicious burn. And Charles wanted this; Erik could see that the second he sought Charles' reflection in the mirror, Charles looking more than a little desperate. Erik pushed.

Immediately Charles pushed back, Erik slipping in further than he'd intended and oh. Oh, God.

Erik's vision went blurry around the edges, and for a minute he was half afraid he might pass out. The hand on Charles' hip tightened--he knew he was likely leaving bruises, but couldn't bring himself to relax his grip. He brought his arm up to wrap around Charles' waist, holding him firmly in place, Erik still only half inside.

Curling forward until his forehead was pressed between Charles' shoulder blades pushed him a little further inside, Erik's entire body tensing at the sensation, the heat of it--oh, God, the heat of it--almost too much to bear. For the longest time, all he could do was pant. Charles had gone impossibly still beneath him, though Erik wasn't sure if that was because he was hurting Charles or because Charles was waiting for him. He was about to ask--to check, because that was what he was supposed to do, wasn't it?--when Charles spoke.

"Move." It was just the one word, but said with such desperation that Erik couldn't help but thrust forward, the movement setting off sparks behind his eyelids--when had he closed his eyes? Charles shuddered beneath him, mumbling now. It took Erik several seconds to work out that he was saying _Thank you_ over and over again until it lost all meaning.

It was then that Erik made the mistake of glancing back to the mirror. Charles looked wrecked. There was no other word for it. The sight of it drove out any grace and reason Erik might have had left, Erik only dimly aware of the low grow that rumbled in his throat. He tightened his grip on Charles' waist, dug his fingers into Charles' hip, and began fucking Charles in earnest.

Fucking Charles like Shaw used to fuck him.

Erik was only dimly aware of this, driven by a primal need that Erik had never experienced before. There was nothing coordinated about it; it was messy and raw, the sound of it, flesh against flesh, startlingly loud on the tiny bathroom. In and out, in and out, a quick pace that had Charles gripping the edge of the sink, head bowed and hand moving rapidly between his legs. Erik had half a second to marvel that Charles was masturbating before his orgasm hit, taking him completely by surprise, his hips stuttering as he slid forcefully back into Charles and came.

Beneath him, Charles moaned, finding his own release.

Time stopped moving again, pieces of the room coming back into focus--the green-blue of the tiles temporarily distracting him from what he'd just done. When it came back to him, still buried inside Charles as he was, Erik staggered back, withdrawing too quickly, earning a muted hiss from Charles. Erik didn't stop moving until he'd hit the back wall, not quite a foot from where Charles was still bent over the sink--oh, God, he'd fucked Charles over a damned sink; what was wrong with him? Erik felt himself fall more than slide, until he was sitting against the back wall, knees drawn into his chest, wet, used condom still rolled over his dick. He wrapped his arms around his legs and tried not to hyperventilate.

Charles glanced over his shoulder, the dopey looking grin on his face vanishing the second he caught sight of Erik. He winced as he moved, guilt spiking in Erik's chest at the sight.

"I'm so sorry," Erik said, Charles kneeling beside him. A look of startled confusion crossed Charles' features. Erik was drawn to the spattering of semen across Charles' abdomen. It took effort to tear his gaze away, but the sight of Charles's face, black and red with smeared make-up, flushed with excursion and dampened with sweat, did little to ease Erik's conscience.

Charles shook his head.

"Okay, I need to know what just happened, because a second ago I was having the best sex of my life, and now you're curled up on the floor."

Erik's brain stumbled on _best sex of my life_ , because surely Charles hadn't actually enjoyed that--had he? Erik had just taken--he hadn't even asked--he'd just bent Charles over and taken like he was some kind of animal. Was that normal? Was that how this was done? Had he been wrong to hate Shaw for it all these years?

Erik was half afraid he might be sick.

"I hurt you," Erik tried, because he'd seen Charles wince. There was no way, especially given how little prep he'd done, that he hadn't hurt Charles.

Charles reached out a tentative hand and placed it on Erik's shoulder. For reasons Erik couldn't fathom, the gesture flooded him with relief.

"I can assure you I'm not hurt. And, I can assure you that everything we just did was consensual. At least, it was on my part, and I thought it was on yours, but if it wasn't you need to tell me."

There was honest-to-God panic in Charles' voice, which confused Erik to no end because why would Charles possibly think that?

Erik shook his head. "I wanted it," he said, and he still did, he realized. He wanted to do it again--to fuck Charles, to feel the intense heat of Charles wrapped around him, to have Charles' slim hips in his hands and didn't that just make him the world's biggest asshole?

"Okay. Okay, that's okay, because you wanted it, and I wanted it, so there shouldn't really be a reason we couldn't do that."

Charles sounded utterly hesitant, like he was tiptoeing around landmines, uncertain of where to step. It occurred to Erik, watching Charles' confusion--Charles' reaction--that this was probably another one of those things that Shaw had screwed him up for. This probably was what people did. It probably was perfectly normal and, God, Erik couldn't seem to get away from the man no matter how hard he tried.

"I really didn't hurt you?" Erik said, because it was still his most pressing concern.

Charles shook his head. "Trust me, it was really, really good for me."

Erik wanted to believe that--he wanted to believe that so much that he found himself nodding. Charles' tension lessened, but he still looked worried, so Erik didn't hesitate to accept the hand he offered. He let Charles pull him to his feet.

"Let's get cleaned up and go to bed," Charles said, Erik more than happy to agree. This entire day had been... too much, if he was honest with himself.

Through the wall, he could still hear the blare of Raven's television. New guilt, this time directed at Raven, coiled in his chest. He hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable. He certainly hadn't meant for her to hear anything that had just happened. He'd reconciled himself to having sex with Charles while she was in the house--something that was bound to happen if Charles did come to live with them--but this went beyond anything he'd meant to do.

He was so busy worrying about Raven--worrying about Charles--that he didn't notice Charles removing the spent condom until it was too late. It only made the situation worse, because Erik was supposed to be taking care of Charles, not the other way around. He reached out to still Charles' hand, taking the washcloth Charles was in the process of wetting from his fingers.

"You'll get your splint wet," he said, though he knew now that Charles had stopped caring about the thing--he now used both hands with absolute confidence, the splint little more than an accessory.

Charles didn't argue, handing over the cloth and letting Erik wet it. He cleaned up Charles' face first--something that seemed to amuse Charles to no end, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Erik merely shook his head and concentrated on wiping away the black of his eyes, and then the red of his lips. It wasn't perfect--they'd need something stronger than water for that--but he cleaned the worst of it away, until Charles wore only the faintest outline of liner, his lips still red, but the colour was mostly his own.

When he was done, he rinsed the washcloth and started on Charles' stomach--he had to move Charles' shirt out of the way; it had fallen during their conversation.

"Okay?" Erik asked, making eye contact before he reached around, waiting for Charles' nod before he ran the cloth through Charles' crack, cleaning the lubricant from his hole.

It occurred to him then that he was still fully dressed, pants hanging around his hips, while Charles was wearing only a shirt--he'd stepped out of his pants and underwear at some point--and a pair of socks. Erik tossed the washcloth in the sink and began slowly undressing them both. Charles stood stock-still, patiently allowing Erik to do so. When they were both naked, he took Charles' good hand and led him towards the bed.

That Charles came willingly, smile still nestled on his face, went a long way to easing Erik's worry.

It was still a long time before Erik found sleep. It wasn't until Charles' breathing evened out, Charles curled into his chest, like Erik was worthy of redemption and not the monster he still feared he might become, that Erik felt comfortable enough to allow himself to drift. Shaw's ghost still lingered in the room, Erik's past becoming irrevocably tangled with his and Charles' future. Erik couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.


	10. Chapter 10

  


_sharp edges  
pricks against  
pale skin_

_slaps between  
reddened cheeks_

_broken skin  
broken hearts  
broken minds._

_reflected back  
edges curve_

_dull  
into..._

[Broken, by Erik Lehnsherr, November, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/503650)

~*~  


Charles woke feeling pleasantly achy. He stretched against the sheets, muscles pulling nicely, the burn of exertion made hazy by sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so thoroughly fucked. It made him want to burrow into Erik's arms; to rub against Erik until he convinced Erik to fuck him again, preferably sometime before breakfast.

Charles went so far as to reach out, flailing slightly when his hands caught air. He opened his eyes to find Erik's side of the bed empty. Panic surged in his chest, Charles kicking himself for having caved to his exhaustion; for having fallen asleep before he'd made certain Erik was all right. He should have known; should have seen it last night in the curl of Erik's shoulders, in the haunted blankness of his eyes. Charles had been too distracted, too giddy with orgasm and the fact that he'd somehow gotten Erik to fuck him to see anything other than someone in need of slight reassurance. Clearly Erik had needed more than that.

Charles pushed himself up onto an elbow--was about to climb from the bed--when a quick survey of the room found Erik sitting in the corner, fully dress, [knees drawn to his chest](http://www.nekosmuse.com/chair.jpg). Charles' heart lodged in his throat. He had to clear it before he could speak.

The sound immediately drew Erik's attention. He glanced up sharply, features softening when he found Charles awake.

"Are you all right?" Charles asked. In lieu of a response, Erik stood, crossing the room to the side of the bed.

There was a brief rush of cold as Erik drew back the covers. Erik was no warmer when he slid beneath them. Charles couldn't help but notice that his hair was damp. He smelled faintly of sandalwood.

"You've showered," Charles said. It wasn't quite an accusation. Erik wrapped a careful hand around Charles' waist.

"I woke up early," he said, which probably made sense, given how early they'd retired last night. "You looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you."

There was more--Charles could tell even if Erik was trying to ignore it--so Charles waited patiently. Erik let out a little laugh.

"I've been having this weird, reoccurring dream. I can't seem to fall back asleep after it."

Something loosened in Charles' chest, even if he knew--on some unconscious level--that Erik was deflecting. He felt guilty for having slept so soundly--although he always slept well next to Erik, and after last night he doubted he could have stayed awake had he tried--but he wanted to believe it was an unrelated dream that had woken Erik, and not lingering upset over last night. Charles had wanted Erik to fuck him--still wanted Erik to fuck him--but not if it meant releasing any of Erik's long-buried demons.

Erik didn't say anything else; Charles was once again left floundering until he found himself saying, "I've had the same reoccurring dream since I was a kid."

He had no idea why he was bringing it up, except perhaps that he was the most self-absorbed asshole on the planet. Still, Erik's grip tightened, bringing their chests flush, the cotton of Erik's t-shirt scratching against Charles' nipples. Erik's expression suggested he was genuinely interested--like maybe Charles' story might help--so Charles continued.

"In it, I'm at my mother's house, in Westchester, but I'm still a kid. I'm locked inside the pantry, except all the food is rotten and there are rats scurrying about. There's not much else to it; I'm just locked inside and can't get out."

He chuckled then, mostly to displace the unsettled feeling in his stomach. The dream still bothered him immensely, even all these years later. He still woke from it panting.

"What do you think it means?" Erik asked, a little breathless Charles thought. Charles considered.

"Probably nothing. I suspect most dreams are like that; the reorganizing of memory, the processing of daily stimulus. Perhaps as a child I once accidentally locked myself in a closet and never fully integrated the memory and my mind has been trying to slot it into place ever since. I'm sure Freud, or even Jung would have a different interpretation, but I've never put much faith in dream interpretation."

The smile that earned him was worth having told the story. [It was one of Erik's rare smiles, mischievous and a little cheeky](http://www.nekosmuse.com/bedgrin.gif). It made it easy to ignore the sleep deprived bruises that shadowed Erik's eyes.

"In mine, I'm standing in this empty, shapeless room, and I can't seem to get its dimensions right. One minute it's really big and the next it's really small; or maybe it's me that's growing and shrinking. It's been driving me a little crazy."

Charles had had a few dreams like that himself--mostly about places he remembered from his childhood. He told Erik as much.

"You were smaller as a child, so a room would seem bigger than if you saw it now," he said.

Erik nodded, looking a little impressed, like Charles had just handed him his answer--when really, Charles was mostly talking out his ass. Still, it was worth it when Erik shifted closer. Charles smiled, burrowing into Erik's embrace just like he'd wanted to earlier. He moved to place a kiss at the side of Erik's mouth--or at least, that was his intention, but at the last second Erik tilted his head, bringing their lips together in a slow, sweet kiss that curled Charles' toes.

Erik tasted like toothpaste. Charles was acutely aware of his morning breath, but Erik didn't seem to mind. He kissed Charles like it was the best thing he'd done all morning. Charles rather hoped it was.

Charles rocked his erection into Erik's jogging pant covered hip, a subtle invitation. In response, Erik pulled at Charles' shoulder, rolling them until Charles was half sprawled across him. The implication was obvious, but Charles couldn't find it in him to mind--not with Erik trapped beneath him, warm and solid and smelling like shampoo.

Charles smiled into their kiss as he brought his hands to the waistband of Erik's pants. A loud, resounding crash echoed from the room next door.

Erik tensed in an instant, pushing Charles to the side as he sat up and glanced over his shoulder. He stared at the wall between his and Raven's rooms for several seconds before slipping from the bed.

"I have to," he said, gesturing. Charles let him go--somewhat reluctantly, but he did understand the concern. Erik took a minute to smooth down first his hair, and then his clothes, frowning at the obvious outline of his erect cock. He shook his head, casting a final glance in Charles' direction. Charles didn't miss the regret he saw there, or the pained uncertainty that made Charles heart clench.

~*~

_Raven Interlude_

Raven bolted out of bed, poised for a fight. It was almost anticlimactic to find she was alone in her bedroom. She let her toes spread wide against the soft pink and purple rug that sat next to her bed, forcing her muscles to relax. Beside her nightstand, the glass of water she'd retrieved before finally turning in had shattered against the floor, water pooling in a puddle that edged towards the lowest point of the room. Raven ran a hand through her hair and exhaled. She must have been flailing in her sleep.

Her racing heart was just starting to settle when there came a tentative knock at her door. Erik, of course--the sound of the glass shattering had been somewhat deafening. Raven padded around the mess to grab her robe from the back of the wingback chair she'd made Erik save from the dumpster outside the building--she'd reupholstered it during their first month in New York, the fabric a soft yellow with tiny blue and red flowers. She slipped her robe over her shoulders, cinching it tightly around her waist before opening the door.

The look of raw panic on Erik's face would have been comical had Raven not known it stemmed largely from his guilt. Of course Erik would feel guilty for last night, despite an earlier conversation, where Raven had given him permission to do what he would with Charles inside the apartment, so long as it was behind closed doors and kept reasonably quiet. It hadn't bothered her, listening to their love-making--though she'd tried not to--but it had sparked something in her, some sense of longing for something she wasn't sure she would ever have. Azazel may have been an incredibly patient man, but she very much doubted he would wait forever.

"It's fine, I just broke a glass," Raven said, gesturing behind her to the mess on the floor. Some of Erik's tension eased, but his frown still held the edge of worry.

"You'll cut your feet," he said, extending a hand. Raven rolled her eyes, but took it, allowing Erik to pull her into the hall.

He left her there, ducked into the bathroom and came out with a hand towel. Like Raven, his feet were bare, but he tiptoed around the broken glass to mop up the water, and then began steadily picking up pieces of broken glass. Raven watched him work, tearing her gaze away from the jagged pieces of glass only when Charles stepped into the hall. He smiled somewhat sheepishly. Raven rolled her eyes. It seemed to ease some of Charles' embarrassment, the red of his cheeks fading.

He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, his hair sticking up in every direction. He tried running a hand through it, but it did little to tame the chaos. Raven chuckled, and then inclined her head towards the room.

"It was just a glass," she said. Charles came to stand next to her. She almost recoiled--he was too close, too soon after she'd woken up--but before she had the chance, he caught himself, offering an apologetic smile as he put some space between them.

Raven shifted to the right so that he had an unobstructed view of Erik on his knees, still picking up broken glass.

"He's a little over protective sometimes," she said, because she was perfectly capable of cleaning up her own glass, but arguing with Erik over it didn't seem worth the trouble.

"I've noticed," Charles said with a laugh. Erik glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Charles' voice. He smiled, seeming somewhat relieved and then turned back to his work.

Charles cleared his throat and turned back to face her.

"I actually wanted to ask you something." He waited for her nod to continue. "What you said yesterday," he said, "about being okay with me living here..."

It wasn't really a question, but Raven understood what he was driving at.

"I'm comfortable with you, mornings notwithstanding," she said.

Charles nodded, but Raven could tell he was immensely curious--though doing a very good job of pretending he wasn't, respecting her boundaries, which she appreciated more than she could say. She hadn't even told Azazel the full extent of her past--something she suspected she ought to rectify.

"If I'm being rude, please tell me to piss off, but can I ask why you've chosen to go into a career that will involve doing something you're not comfortable with?"

Raven couldn't help but laugh--she laughed again when she noticed Erik, who had turned upon hearing the question, eyes growing wide, a look of horror on his face like Charles had just committed social suicide. She supposed Erik had a point, because it was undoubtedly something he had wanted to ask, but had refrained, likely not wanting to discourage her. She appreciated Charles' bluntness, though. It was one of her traits, after all.

"I like the idea of a challenge," she said. Charles looked startled for a moment, and then he beamed at her, glancing briefly to Erik before meeting her eye.

"I know exactly what you mean," he said.

The smile he gave her was conspiring, like he'd just found a kindred spirit. Raven felt a sudden surge of affection for Charles that until that moment she had only ever associated with Erik. It was a little overwhelming, so early in the morning, so instead of grinning like she wanted to, she gave him a soft smile. He took it for what it was, immediately turning his attention back to Erik, giving her the space she so desperately needed. As soon as his attention was diverted, she slipped down the hall and into the bathroom, leaving Charles and Erik to discuss plans for breakfast. There was something soft, almost fragile, in their words, so Raven tuned them out, not wanting to intrude.

By the time she was done with her shower--she'd taken her time today--the scent of eggs and coffee filled the apartment, and Charles was shrugging into his coat.

"Yes, but I do actually need to get some work done," he was saying. Erik was very obviously trying to convince him to linger.

She brushed past them, hearing Charles laugh at something Erik had said. She left them to it, uncovered the plate of eggs and toast Erik had set aside for her and sat at the island to eat. She'd just swallowed a piece of toast when the sudden urge to see Azazel struck her, so she pulled her phone from her pocket and sent him a text.

[   
](http://nekosmuse.com/aztext.jpg)

~*~

Charles hated Tuesdays--and Thursdays, come to think of it. His bio-ethics class was in the afternoon, which meant he couldn't lose himself in work at the lab, but it also meant he had a good deal of time to kill before he could teach it. He hadn't lied when he'd told Erik he had work today--and besides, he was hardly the only one who'd been neglecting work these past few weeks, Erik undoubtedly behind, however much he tended to overuse his TA. He'd needed time to think, though, this morning having thrown him completely off his game. Charles was used to feeling triumph whenever he achieved something he'd set out to do. He wasn't used to the low burn of guilt that currently coiled in his chest, however much Erik had tried to reassure him--and didn't that just make him the biggest asshole on the planet, because it should have been him trying to reassure Erik.

He stopped at home first, because he had yet to leave any clothing at Erik's, and regardless of how many times he spent the night there or Erik spent the night at his place, they never thought to bring an overnight bag. Charles suspected, especially if Erik wanted him to move in, that they ought to try giving each other drawers for a few months. He'd had a drawer at Scott's that he'd mostly kept empty, but Scott had never wanted a drawer at his. Erik, Charles hoped, would be more than happy to keep a spare change of clothes at Charles. He'd already migrated over his toiletry collection.

He needed to shower and shave--he'd gotten an odd look from the cabby before he'd remembered his eyes were likely still shadowed by Raven's make-up--and to find something clean to wear, but first there was something Charles needed to do.

He dropped his coat and bag on his still overflowing chair--one of these days he was going to go through those books and catalogue them. When Erik, Raven and him did start looking at apartments, a library--or the very least a study--was essential. Charles crossed to his dresser and crouched down to pull open the bottom drawer.

He'd somehow, in the past ten years of his life, managed to collect enough stuff that the drawer was now close to overflowing. He'd been thinking about doing this since yesterday--longer, if he was honest with himself, but he needed that letter for his lawyer, and for the first time in a while, Erik wasn't around, and this wasn't something he wanted to do in front of Erik.

Charles repositioned himself so that he was seated, cross-legged in front of the drawer.

Erik's [binder of poems](http://nekosmuse.com/outsider.html) was still there, as was the [notebook](http://www.epica.com/Italian-Leather-Journals-with-Hand-Cut-Pages.html) Erik had given him. Charles set them both to the side. The binder with clippings related to his father joined the pile--in it was the letter Charles needed to send to Remy LeBeau.

The old tea box, with his photographs, he set the side as well. He'd sort through those later; put the ones he wanted to keep in an album. The shortbread tin he took out and placed on his lap.

Opening the tin was somewhat cathartic. Charles realized he hadn't looked in it since before he and Erik had started dating. Moira, who knew about the tin--and Charles still regretted telling her--would undoubtedly be proud of him for doing this; hell, Charles was proud of himself. He made two piles. A to-keep pile and a to-discard pile. The wrist band from his first hand job went into the to-discard pile, as did the poppy from the poppy guy. The watch Scott had given him he set aside--he probably ought to return it; it couldn't have been cheap. After a moment's consideration, he put Logan's coin next to the watch--he might as well give that back, too. The hand stamp went in the discard pile.

Erik's lecture notes he kept. Along with the receipt from their first official date--at least, that's what Charles was calling their coffee at the Hungarian Pastry Shop.

Slowly he sorted through it all. By the time he was done, the drawer was down to a more manageable size, Charles having accumulated a small pile of refuse, along with two items worthy of being returned. He repacked the drawer, keeping out only his father's binder. After a minute's hesitation, Charles opened the drawer above, took out his collection of cardigans and set them on the bed. Erik now officially had a drawer.

He brought his father's binder to his fold out table, the letter Kurt had sent him tucked into the front pocket. The letter was worn with age, having moved with him several times. It had coffee stains, and was crinkled from where Charles had crumpled it into a ball and thrown it across the room--more than once. One of its corners was ripped. He pulled it out and set it aside, very carefully avoiding everything else in the binder as he returned it to its place in the drawer.

After, he showered and dressed--and emailed Hank, because Hank had undoubtedly pressed ahead last night and Charles wanted to know what to expect when he made it into the lab later this afternoon--but it was still early, so when Charles got to the campus he detoured to Philosophy Hall. Muscle memory almost led him directly to Erik's office--and he did plan on popping in once he was done--Charles having to force himself to turn right when he usually turned left. It brought him down to Scott's office, his door wide open, Scott obviously in the middle of his office hours. He was alone, though, so Charles rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. Scott glanced up, clearly surprised.

"Did you take a wrong turn?" he asked, standing. Charles chuckled under his breath.

"Almost."

Scott frowned, missing the joke, but he gestured to the chair in front of his desk--the same one Charles had sat in what seemed so long ago now, the very first time he'd heard Erik Lehnsherr's name. Charles crossed the room and sank down into it, reaching into his pocket to retrieve Scott's watch and Logan's coin.

"I wanted to give this back," he said, sliding the watch across. He kept the coin in his hand, rolling it over the back of his knuckles, gold and silver flashing across the edge of his vision.

Scott's eyes grew wide when he recognized the watch. He reached for it, turning it over in his hand to read the inscription: _All my love, Scott._ How pithy it seemed now. Years ago, when Scott had given it to him--a birthday present--it had bothered Charles that Scott hadn't even thought to include Charles' name.

"I'm surprised you kept it," Scott said. Charles had to bite his lip to keep from laughing hysterically. Scott didn't know about the drawer.

"I was cleaning out a drawer and found it." It was somewhat of a relief when Scott nodded. He didn't say anything else, merely tucking the watch into a pocket. Charles wondered if he'd try giving it to Logan. He wondered if he was the first to have received it. Still, all things considered, it was a nice watch.

The thought of Logan reminded him of the coin, so Charles slid that over as well. "I also found this. I figured if you guys ever go up to see Logan's family," he had vague recollections of Logan having mentioned something about family, "you could use it."

Scott nodded again, somewhat thoughtfully, so Charles quickly changed the subject before Scott could put two and two together and actually come up with four.

"Mostly, I wanted to talk to you about that lawyer."

That was the real reason he'd wanted to see Scott. He needed to know just how far he could trust this guy--just how far he could rely on him. Kurt's letter was a heavy weight in his messenger bag.

"You saw him. Good for you, Charles," Scott said, which rather rubbed Charles the wrong way, but he ignored the urge to sit a little straighter; rolled his eyes instead.

Scott didn't notice.

"I actually met him through Logan. He consults with the NYPD on a lot of the white-collar cases, so when Logan's grandmother died and he had to do all this cross-border estate stuff, we went and saw him. I know he's not your usual lawyer type, but the guy has some serious skill when it comes to this stuff. Give him a chance."

Charles felt marginally better hearing that. He nodded, and was about to thank Scott for his time--to stand and leave--when Scott glanced over his shoulder, expression growing dark. Charles turned to glance over his shoulder, smile lighting up his face until he caught sight of the expression on Erik's face, and, oh.

Oh. Right.

Charles gave Scott a pointed look, pleading for his silence. He stood then, crossing the room to where Erik was, standing frozen in the hall in front of Scott's open office door, having obviously heard Charles' voice and come to investigate. Erik was glaring at Scott, but his gaze shifted to Charles, expression somewhat hurt when he met Charles eye. Charles schooled his features to fond exasperation--his first instinct had been worry, Erik paler than usual, the lines across his forehead starker than they usually were.

Without saying goodbye to Scott, Charles slipped into the hall, taking Erik's arm and tugging him away from Scott's office--they were not having this conversation in front of Scott--waiting until they were around the corner to speak.

"You are utterly ridiculous, but it's adorable, so I forgive you completely, and also, how can you possibly be jealous of that man? I broke up with him, mostly because he is a twat," was as far as he got before Erik stopped walking.

Apparently Charles hadn't been dragging Erik down the hall after all. He staggered to a stop--he had no other choice--turned and arched an eyebrow.

Erik's expression had lightened considerably. "Did you just use the word twat?"

Charles reflected. "Possibly?"

Erik laughed. "I haven't heard that since I was at Oxford."

"Where do you think I learned it?" Charles grinned.

"Sorry, that was..." Erik gestured. This was getting to be an old conversation, and yet Charles didn't mind having it. It was nice to be reminded--Erik could remind him every day as far as Charles was concerned--that he was wanted; that he was worth possessing.

Charles closed the short distance between them, stepping into Erik's space. He pressed up onto his toes, sealing their lips together in a brief, though entirely warming kiss.

"I was interrogating him about my new lawyer," Charles said as he pulled back--best not to mention the watch.

"I see," Erik said, crowding even closer. He bent down to nip at Charles' lips, Scott clearly forgotten.

It was easy to get lost in Erik's kisses; easy to forget where they were until a throat cleared behind them. A low growl vibrated in the back of Erik's throat--he had a hand splayed possessively across the small of Charles' back, which he used to drag Charles' closer, like he was worried it was Scott, coming to issue a challenge. Charles had to physically push against Erik to get him to let up.

"Public hall," Charles managed, feeling a blush spread across his cheeks. He glanced over Erik's shoulder to find Erik's TA--Janos, Charles recalled--standing somewhat awkwardly, holding a pile of what were obviously student essays.

Reluctantly, Erik released him. He scowled at Janos, who merely shook his head, gestured over his shoulder in the direction of Erik's office, and then walked away.

"That kid is going to be renowned someday," Erik said, gesturing to Janos' retreating form. "He doesn't say much, but my God can he write."

Charles tilted his head. "Should I be jealous?" he asked, realizing too late that it was the wrong thing to say, Erik's smile disappearing, his expression growing dark.

Charles had forgotten about the student thing--stupid, stupid.

"Sorry, that was... I didn't mean..."

"It's fine," Erik said, but Charles knew it wasn't--not really. There was something very dark in the timbre of Erik's voice; something that, when Charles thought about it, he realized had been there since last night.

It was also something they really didn't have time to discuss at the moment, Charles' class fast approaching, Erik obviously on the way to his. It would probably be a day, at least, before he saw Erik again, his night spoken for, Hank forgiving, but not that forgiving. Charles reached out to place his splinted hand against Erik's shoulder.

"I really am sorry," he said. He wasn't just talking about his slip. Erik's expression softened.

"It's really fine. But you should know that you never need feel jealous of anyone." He brought a hand to Charles' cheek, brushing the backs of his fingers against it.

"The same goes for you, you know," Charles said, earning one of Erik's genuine smiles. Erik hesitated then, glancing once over his shoulder before he swooped down and pressed their lips together.

"I have to..." he said as he pulled back, gesturing over his shoulder. Charles nodded, letting Erik head towards his office while Charles turned back towards the exit.

Too late Charles realized that he hadn't actually planned a lecture for today.

~*~

_Raven Interlude_

Gloves helped. A lot, actually--and maybe that was something she should look into; probably a lot of make-up artists wore gloves, it might even be mandatory. She could feel the warmth of Azazel's hand, nestled against her own, but without the skin to skin contact her usual knee-jerk reaction was missing. She felt... comfortable was a good word.

"You're not usually so quiet," Azazel said, as if sensing her thoughts.

In the space between lunch and now, they'd somehow managed to make it to Union Square--a four block walk if Raven recalled correctly, though Raven barely remembered the trip. If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn they'd teleported here.

She blamed it entirely on being unaccountably nervous.

She almost wished she could take back that text.

Union Square was filled with the usual post-lunch crowd; and this despite the decided nip in the air. People bustled everywhere, set against the backdrop of a clear and sunny afternoon, the sky an unending shade of blue. The leaves had mostly fallen, the trees skeletal claws that stretched heavenwards. Raven released a breath, surprised when it misted the air. She spotted an empty bench and moved towards it, dragging Azazel with her. As they sat, Azazel's expression was entirely too amused.

He ran a thumb against the back of her knuckles. The sensation was not unpleasant.

"We talk about dis," he reminded her, and they had, but for however patient Azazel was, Raven was the exact opposite. Impatience burned in her chest, until she thought she might vibrate out of her skin.

She saw her shrink this afternoon--Azazel had already offered to take her to her appointment, his bike parked outside her apartment. If there was ever a more opportune moment, this was it--if it went badly, she had her safety net in place.

The thing was she wanted to kiss Azazel. More than anything--she'd never kissed anyone, and no one had ever kissed her. She wanted to understand the dopey smile Erik wore whenever he and Charles parted. She wanted to know what it meant to have her face heat the way Charles' always did, blush disappearing beneath his shirt. She was twenty-nine, damn it, and she'd never been kissed.

Azazel had enough of an understanding of her past--no specifics, never specifics--that when she held up her hand--the one he wasn't holding--he immediately fell still. He waited, head cocked to the side, watching her intently. When she turned to face him, he offered her a reassuring smile.

He remained perfectly still as she leaned forward, feeling a little claustrophobic once she was in his space--though it was no different from yesterday, when she'd had to get in close to get Charles' eye liner right. It wasn't as off putting as she'd expected, Azazel watching her with fond amusement, his eyes finally closing when she got in close enough.

She kept hers open, pressing her lips to his, little more than a quick peck, but it didn't flood her with disgust or guilt or terror like she was expecting. It just was, her heart beating a little quicker, her palms a little sweatier, her mouth a little dryer. When she pulled back, Azazel opened his eyes. He searched her face, obviously pleased by whatever he found there, because he smiled, both comforting and seductive.

Raven laughed.

"I'm actually a little disappointed," she confessed. "I was expecting the end of the world."

"Da, dat is usually what happens when people kiss me."

The glare Raven shot him was mostly half hearted. The grin Azazel gave her was entirely fond.

For the first time in perhaps the whole of her life, Raven was startled to feel something she suspected might be hope.


	11. Chapter 11

  
_to control  
to fix  
to hold_

_craved into  
being._

_to right  
wrongs,  
battles,  
souls._

_when  
does the  
impulse_

_turn into_

_need,  
burning want?_

_leaving us  
bare_

_lacking  
reason._

[Impulse, by Erik Lehnsherr, November, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/510087)

~*~  


"We fly out Friday and I'm not sure we have enough data to present anything new," Hank said. He had his nose buried in a file folder, Charles occasionally bumping their shoulders together to steer Hank in the right direction. Neither of them had slept, the late nights in the lab starting to take their toll, Charles not as young as he used to be. He stifled a yawn as he ushered Hank around a corner. The hall's fluorescent lighting was particularly grating this early in the morning.

"Then we don't present anything new," Charles said. There was entirely too much work left to do on this project, and if they presented what they had there was a good chance someone would recreate their research, bring it to publication before they did. Genetics was a highly competitive field, after all.

Hank harrumphed, disappointed, but he didn't disagree. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles watched him flip through the pages in his file folder. "Our research from the summer is perfectly valid. No one's going to fault us for not bringing anything new to the table," Charles added, though he could tell it did little to ease Hank's frustration.

Hank was still bristling when they got to his office. Charles reached out to catch his arm, slowing Hank to a stop. Hank glanced up then, startled, a look of genuine surprise settling over his features, like it hadn't occurred to him they were anywhere near his office. Charles ushered him inside.

"It'll be fine, I promise," Charles said. Appeasing Hank's ego was the last thing Charles wanted to do right now--in fact, aside from seeing Erik, whom he hadn't seen since yesterday at lunch, the only thing Charles really wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep until tomorrow--or tonight rather, because if he was going to spend three days away from Erik he was going to make good use of the next two days and...

Oh. Erik.

"We'll also need to get some of the RAs to take blood samples, check for inflammation," Hank was saying, going on about cytokines, but Charles had already tuned him out, his stomach sinking as he realized he'd forgotten to tell Erik he'd be in Los Angeles this weekend.

How could he have forgotten?

"I'm sorry, Hank, but there's something I need to take care of," Charles said, waving off anything else Hank might have said as he darted into the hall, Charles practically running back to his office, where he'd left his iPhone sitting on the corner of his desk.

He was rather breathless when he finally made it there, Charles staggering to a stop when he caught sight of Moira sitting on his couch, looking unaccountably nervous. Charles glanced between her and his phone, and then reluctantly turned to face her.

"What happened?" he asked, worried then that Sean had broken her heart--and if he had Charles would have to kill him, pacifist or no pacifist.

He was not expecting Moira to say, "I'm pregnant," like the world was ending and she had resigned herself to untimely death. Charles mouth fell open. He blinked, several times in rapid succession--he'd really had far too little sleep for this--and then stepped towards her.

He sat down next to her, somewhat gingerly--despite his chosen field, Charles had relatively little experience with pregnant women--and offered a tentative smile. Moira scowled.

"You're going to make a great mom," he tried, meaning it. Moira shook her head.

"That's not the point. The point is I'm pregnant--six weeks to be exact--and our wedding is seven months away." Charles frowned, not quite seeing the point. Moira let out a little huff of irritation and elaborated. "Seven months, Charles. And I don't know about you, but I'm fairly certain they don't make figure flattering maternity wedding dresses, never mind that I probably won't even be able to walk by that point."

"I'm sure it won't be that..."

"Of course it'll be that bad. I'm going to have to shelve all my research." Charles winced, though she was right; she couldn't very well continue to work inside a lab--not that she did much these days, most of her work administrative--not unless she wanted to risk miscarriage or birth defects. A genetics lab was hardly the place for someone carrying a fetus. "This is entirely my mother's fault," Moira continued, like Moira's mother's prayers for a grandchild were the reason Moira was knocked up and not Sean's super semen.

Charles offered a conciliatory smile. Moira looked set to strangle him. It took a good deal of effort to swallow back a comment on hormones. In fact, he suspected the only thing that would appease Moira in this instance was a rushed wedding, preferably one before she started to show.

And actually, Charles could probably do that.

"The Tea Room," he said. Moira's brow furrowed. "I have the ballroom at the Russian Tea Room booked in five weeks. You'll only be three months along by then, and this is your first, so I doubt you'll be showing, and you should be past your morning sickness by then. Instead of an engagement party, why not have your actual wedding?"

Moira looked at him like he was crazy.

"It's doable, provided you send out the invitations immediately. I'm sure with the right wedding planner you could easily pull this off."

Moira was starting to look a little more thoughtful.

"And," Charles continued, ridiculously pleased, "since you'll have to shelve your research, you'll have plenty of time to help with the planning."

Charles smiled. If only all his problems were so easily solved.

"You're insane, you know," Moira said, but she hadn't rejected the idea outright--in fact, she looked determined, like Charles had just issued a challenge and it was up to her to pick up the gantlet.

"The best ideas usually are," Charles said, thinking back to his pursuit of Erik. She'd called that crazy, too, and it had turned out fairly well.

Moira still looked a little hesitant, but she said, "Five weeks?" like the idea was not outside the realm of possibilities.

"Five weeks," Charles confirmed, smiling brightly when Moira stood. "And don't worry about finding someone to do your make-up," he called as she left the room, laughing when Moira shot him a questing glance over her shoulder. "Erik's sister is very good."

Moira expression turned skeptical, but she nodded. Charles waited until she was firmly in the hall to retrieve his phone.

He'd pulled up Erik's name before he realized that telling Erik over the phone was probably a bad idea. This seemed like the sort of thing one needed to discuss in person. Charles glanced at the time. There was really nothing else for it. He was going to have to crash one of Erik's poetry classes again.

Charles smiled at the prospect. It would be worth putting off sleep.

~*~

Erik felt strangely light as he navigated the narrow halls of Hamilton. It was the run, he decided--because it certainly wasn't Charles' absence, Erik having woken feeling strangely displaced; even now he ached to see Charles. He'd gone for a run this morning simply because he hadn't known what else to do with himself, and running had seemed like a good option. He was glad now that he had, the exercise leaving him clear-headed and energized. He was going to have to start scheduling in more runs, his pattern completely off now that he and Charles were together.

Running had given him a chance to clarify some of his thoughts on this morning's lecture, too. They were covering Shelley today. Erik couldn't believe how quickly the semester was coming to a close; couldn't believe how much his life had changed over the course of the last three months. He was looking forward to today's class. Between his abundance of free time last night and this morning's run he had what he suspected was a pretty engaging lecture.

Unfortunately, everything he had planned flew straight out of his head when he walked into the classroom and found [Charles sitting amongst his students](http://www.nekosmuse.com/criticalmethods.jpg).

Erik came to an abrupt stop. He stared at Charles, Charles offering him a relatively sly looking grin. Snickers rose up from the back of the room--Erik was fairly certain there was no one left in the entire school who didn't know about him and Charles. He gave Charles a questioning look, but Charles merely lifted his eyebrow, almost daring Erik to continue. Stunned, and more than a little distracted, Erik crossed to the room's podium and set down his coffee.

It was one thing for Charles to sneak in near the end of a class, another entirely for Charles to show up at the beginning. How the hell was he supposed to teach now?

It was incredibly awkward standing at the front of the room with Charles watching him passively, as though curious to see what Erik might do. Erik wanted nothing more than to dismiss the entire class, take Charles somewhere private because he hadn't seen Charles in almost twenty-four hours. He wanted Charles to himself--wanted to make up for a missed night and staring at Charles now, Charles' hair dishevelled, Charles still wearing yesterday's clothes, Charles' jaw in desperate need of a shave, it was obvious that Charles hadn't slept. Erik knew from experience that a sleepy Charles was an incredibly affectionate Charles and, God, how he just wanted to bend Charles over his desk and...

Erik cleared his throat as if to displace the thought, because giving in to the impulse once had been bad enough; he wasn't going to do it again.

Except, if the way Charles was looking at him was any indication, Charles wanted Erik to do exactly that. It occurred to Erik then that Charles was looking at him exactly the same way he had during those early weeks, when Charles was still an off-limits student, utterly tantalizing but completely forbidden. God, how Erik had wanted to run his hands through Charles' hair; had wanted to trace patterns across Charles' alabaster skin. He'd done both now, and much, much more, but seeing Charles inside his classroom brought it all back, that distinct uneasy need that had consumed him for weeks. It was a wonder he'd managed to resist as long as he had.

And this was why he had forbidden Charles from attending his lectures.

"Um..." Erik tried, clearing his throat a second time, glad for the podium because now he was half-hard. When he spoke again, he managed to get out, "Today we're continuing our look at Shelley's _A Defense of Poetry_."

He couldn't seem to stop staring at Charles, so he didn't miss the way Charles' eyes lit up, like he was familiar with the work and more than willing to contribute to today's lecture. Erik was doomed--utterly, utterly doomed.

Something that became readily apparent when, after a few minutes discussion Charles said, "Shelley argues that poetry is the expression of the imagination of the poet; part of the poet's psyche that links us to the spiritual world beyond. In other words, poetry is not only an imitation of human actions and behavior, but transcends the physical into a higher art. I believe," and here Charles sounded uncertain, Erik's heart fluttering at the sound, "that Shelley placed poetry and literature in general above all other art forms as the highest intellectual pursuit."

"Yes," Erik managed after several minutes of staring, "because Shelley believed poetry was the medium through which imagination presented itself."

The entire class was staring at them, a hushed silence having fallen over the room. Charles licked his lips. Erik swallowed against the sudden urge to kiss him. Getting through the rest of the lecture was somewhat of a challenge, especially when it became obvious that no one besides Charles had any interest in contributing to the discussion--not that Erik would have noticed, so fixed was he on Charles, his lips especially red today, like he was once again wearing lipstick and...

"I think that's where we're going to finish up today," Erik said. "Make sure you've read Alastor for tomorrow." His class blinked at him. Charles offered him a smirk. Too late Erik realized there was still fifteen minutes left in the class. Erik cleared his throat.

"Because we're nearing the end of term, Janos is going to stick around," he glanced briefly at Janos, earning an arched eyebrow, "to run a little Q and A. I'll have my usual office hours tomorrow."

He didn't wait for any objections, catching Charles' eye as he packed up his things. By the time he was ready to leave, Janos assuming the podium, already fielding questions, Charles had already slipped from the room.

Erik found him in the hall, leaning against a wall, looking more than a little smug. Erik didn't waste any time crossing to his side. He wrapped an arm around Charles' waist and pulled him into a kiss.

"I thought we talked about this," he said as he pulled back. Charles laughed.

"I won't make a habit out of it," he said, yawning then, looking entirely too apologetic for having done so. Erik ran a hand through Charles' hair. Several whispered snickers told Erik some of his students were starting to exit the room. He withdrew his hand and stepped back.

"I have an appointment this afternoon," he said, though he was tempted to cancel if it meant spending the afternoon with Charles. He suspected Dr. Frost might object, however, so instead of suggesting it, he added, "But I have a few hours."

Charles grinned. "I can't say I'll be the best company," he did look exhausted, "but we can probably grab some take-out lunch and take it back to mine."

Erik was more than willing to agree. Wordlessly he handed Charles his satchel so that he could slip into his coat. When he was done, Charles did the same and then Erik offered his hand, ignoring the knowing looks from passing students as he led Charles to the exit.

"I actually came looking for you because I forgot to mention something," Charles said once they were outside. Erik arched an eyebrow. Charles looked particularly chagrined as he said, "I have a conference this weekend." He paused. "In Los Angeles."

Erik's eyes grew wide, even as his steps faltered. He stumbled to a stop, Charles offering an apologetic smile as he came to stand in front of Erik, framed by the late-morning sun, cheeks already red from the crisp November air.

"I've known since the summer, but then I forgot about it," Charles said. "I didn't even make travel arrangements; Hank ended up doing so on my behalf."

Erik frowned at that. "Hank's your research partner?" he asked. Charles nodded. Before he could stop himself, he was asking, "Will he be going with you?"

He wanted so bad to be the kind of boyfriend who was trusting and accepting; who wasn't possessive and didn't automatically react with jealousy whenever Charles mentioned someone Erik didn't know--or did know for that matter--but try as he might he couldn't seem to stop the knee-jerk reaction.

"Sorry, that's..."

Charles slid forward, pressing a finger to Erik's lip before Erik could continue.

"Yes, he will be travelling with me. He will also have his own hotel room, and if you are free you are more than welcome to come with me. You'd have to entertain yourself during the day, but my nights would be yours."

Erik hadn't thought it possibly to be any more startled than he already was. Charles was doing a very good job of keeping him on his toes today. He shook his head.

"I can't just leave Raven like that..." he said, realizing it was true. He would have loved to have gone away with Charles--their first trip a distant part of his brain cheered--but an entire weekend away from Raven with only two days' notice was asking too much. He shook his head again.

"It's fine," Charles said, though he sounded disappointed. "I would offer to cancel, but unfortunately I'm presenting something so..."

Erik nodded, understanding completely--of course he understood--and yet utterly hating the thought of spending a weekend away from Charles.

"When do you leave?" he asked.

"Friday morning. I'll be back Sunday night."

It was probably not healthy, especially given how short a time he'd known Charles--how short a time he'd been dating Charles--that the thought of spending three days apart from him left Erik feeling hollow. Possibly it was something he ought to discuss with Dr. Frost this afternoon--along with a host of other things; he was certainly making her work for his money.

"Stay over tonight, and tomorrow night," Erik said, all in a rush, horrifically embarrassed by his neediness, but Charles merely smiled and nodded, agreeing like he honestly couldn't think of anything he'd rather be doing. It eased some of Erik's tension, though a stubborn knot of it remained coiled between his shoulder blades. When he inhaled, it pulled tight, spreading into his chest.

It lessened somewhat when Charles stepped further into Erik's space, stretching up onto his toes to press their lips together. When he pulled back, his grin was more than a little suggestive. "Come on, I'm starving," he said. Erik didn't think he was talking about food.

~*~

Dr. Frost was as impassive as ever, seated behind her sprawling desk-- _Not the couch today?_ she'd asked when Erik had moved to sit before it. She looked pristine, dressed completely in white. Her well-manicured nails matched her pantsuit. Erik still hadn't answered her--hadn't said anything at all. He had no idea where to start.

Did he start with his lunch hour; with the mild panic attack he'd had while Charles was giving him a blowjob, Erik's mind drifting, imagining then that Charles really was a student; that Erik had taken him back to his ratty student apartment, that he was taking advantage, the fantasy--nightmare he called it now--simultaneously the most arousing thing he could imagine and the most repulsive. Did he tell her that he had pulled away, unable to finish? Or did he talk about the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that came whenever he thought about Charles going away for the weekend. Or maybe he ought to talk about the other night, when he'd bent Charles over a sink and fucked him like he was some kind of animal. Or maybe talk about how much he wanted to do it again, because apparently Erik was the worst kind of creep imaginable.

Or maybe he'd start with his dream; the stupid, never-ending dream that kept chasing him in circles until he was half afraid it would drive him insane.

Or the car accident he could still remember with vivid clarity, even days later.

"Charles' mother died," he said out of the blue. Dr. Frost unfolded her hands, laid them flat on the desk.

"That must be very hard for him," she said.

Erik nodded. He could think of a dozen things to say in response. What he settled on was, "I think I might be taking advantage of him."

And that was the crux of it, he realized, because Charles was vulnerable and in need of support, and instead of giving that support Erik was pushing him into a committed relationship--dear, God, he'd practically gotten Charles to agree to move in with him--never mind the things that Charles was letting Erik _do_ to him.

Dr. Frost, whose lip had pressed into a thin line, narrowed her eyes. It was slight, and if Erik hadn't spent the past few months staring across this desk at her, he probably would have missed it. "Why do you think you're taking advantage of him?" she asked.

Erik opened his mouth, and then closed it again, because he had no idea what to say. Wasn't it obvious? Dr. Frost continued to meet his eye, waiting patiently. Erik floundered.

"You told me to slow things down with him," he finally managed.

"I suggested it would be a good idea, yes."

"I didn't," Erik said. "I did the exact opposite, and now we're talking about moving in together and he's letting me fuck him, and he has all this money he stands to inherit that he's offered to get rid of so that I'm not bothered by it and he's going away this weekend and he said I could come with him, but I can't, and anytime I have to spend even a night away from him I can't breathe for it."

He felt a little breathless when he was finished. He felt a little overwhelmed, too, realization dawning. He was obsessed with Charles Xavier. And he was trying damned hard to make sure Charles Xavier was obsessed with him. What the hell kind of monster did that make him?

Dr. Frost looked more than a little startled--which for her meant that her eyes had widened slightly, her mouth parting so that she no longer looked set to break into a scowl. Erik fought the urge to laugh hysterically and wondered if he ought to bring up his reoccurring dream. He had a vague recollection about wanting to talk to her about his parents, too.

And Raven, there was always Raven.

"I think we might need to bump up my appointments to twice a week," he said instead, and if Dr. Frost had looked startled before, she looked utterly gobsmacked now.

She mastered herself quickly, though, features shifting back into her standard mask of neutrality. She nodded.

"Of course. We can make arrangements with Angel to add a session to your schedule," she said.

Erik felt a bit of his tension lessen. He exhaled, and then nodded. Dr. Frost tilted her head.

"What does Charles think of this?" she asked. "Does he think you're taking advantage of him?"

Erik frowned. "Charles isn't in a position to make that decision." He knew instantly Dr. Frost didn't agree.

"He's an adult. He may be experiencing the trauma of losing a loved one..." It took all of Erik's willpower not to huff out a bitter laugh, knowing what he knew of Charles' mother. It still must have shown on his face, because Dr. Frost paused, clearly waiting for explanation. When Erik didn't provide one, she cleared her throat and continued. "He may be experiencing the trauma of losing a family member, but that doesn't mean he's incapable of making decisions, or that his emotional state is so vulnerable that he would be suggestive to anything he might otherwise object to.

"I know I've suggested you slow things down with him, but that was for your sake, not his, but since you've chosen to move forward with this relationship, the only thing I can council is to discuss this matter with him. Healthy relationships require open communication."

Erik felt his cheeks flush. He glanced down, startled to find he was picking at a cuticle; a nervous gesture held over from his childhood. He could remember once sitting on his borrowed bed--the bottom bunk, the older child above him having claimed the top bunk without asking--cuticles bloodied as he listened to the sounds of Raven's muffled sobs through their shared heating vent. She'd cried herself to sleep that night, and many a night after, Erik too young--too weak--to do anything about it.

"We don't really talk a lot," he admitted, although that was changing, conversation between them flowing more readily than it once had.

This time Dr. Frost's frown was blindingly obvious. "Then I would suggest you start," she said. It was the first time she'd worded advice as anything other than a suggestion. Still, it was easier said than done. He'd already shared more with Charles than he'd shared with anyone--and that included Dr. Frost--if he shared anymore he ran the risk of Charles deciding Erik wasn't worth it after all.

Still, she likely had a point, so Erik nodded. She didn't say anything else, and Erik wasn't sure what to move to next--it was like travelling back in time, their earlier sessions spent staring at one another over this very desk. The thought was so comical, this time Erik couldn't help but laugh, chuckling under his breath as he shook his head. It knocked loose the last of his tension, though he couldn't for the life of him say why.

He tried to picture Charles in his place, and realized he was probably the most pathetic person on the planet.

Dr. Frost's expression was both bemused and quizzical, so Erik shrugged and said, "I'm in love with him," like that explained everything. It didn't, but it felt good to say it out loud, so he said it again. "I'm in love with Charles Xavier."

He was so caught up in the giddy delight of finally putting a name to the swirling vortex of emotions coursing through him that he entirely missed Dr. Frost's reaction. When he finally met her gaze, it was level, calm and collected. Erik wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

~*~

_Dr. Frost Interlude_

It was only her years of training and experience that had allowed her to remain impassive during Erik's session. She'd waited until he was gone, new appointment booked for Monday, to return to her desk and steadily exhale.

She found breathing exercises to be particularly helpful; they were something she often recommended to her patients. When she gone through six cycles of breathing, she pulled out her MacBook and began typing up her notes. Erik was a challenging patient, though not a danger to anyone--unlike some of her patients--so while she suspected he could probably benefit from drug therapy, knowing his aversion to such things, she discarded it this week like she did every week. There was still so much to work through; she felt like she was only just getting to know the man.

Still, every session filled in a piece of the puzzle, today's [SOAP note](http://www.nekosmuse.com/soap.pdf) providing new insight into the most reticent patient she had ever had. He was making huge strides, and she suspected they were nearing another breakthrough.

She hadn't expected him to bring up his parents--though they were on her list of things to discuss--but today he had admitted that Charles' mother's death had him thinking about them again. That was good, though it had the potential to cause some other problems, all of which she'd cautioned him about.

 _Your parents death was a traumatic experience for you, Erik, whether you realize it or not. It would not be uncommon to experience symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder._ She'd [dug out a pamphlet](http://www.nekosmuse.com/PTSD.pdf) then and handed it to him. He'd accepted it gingerly, obviously still believing Charles was the bigger issue.

And he was, though not in the way Erik thought. Certainly entering into an intense, intimate relationship given his previous experience would require some patience--on his part; and on his partner's--but Emma was more concern by who he was dating rather than the fact that he was dating.

She found herself highlighting "Charles Xavier" in her notes, and the fact that she'd used Xavier's name rather than an initial said something. She didn't know Xavier personally, but it was impossible to travel in New York's social circles without knowing who he was. She was kicking herself for not putting two and two together before now.

It wasn't so much his playboy reputation that worried her--people, she knew, could change--but rather the vast sums of money his estate was worth, something she knew tended to get in the way of healthy relationships. Erik wasn't a suicide risk, but she knew he would take the dissolution of the relationship badly, if it came to that. She added a note about recommending couples' counselling, something she honestly believed every couple should do before escalating a relationship--something Erik would be doing just by moving in with Xavier--and then saved her notes.

When she was done, she inhaled sharply, releasing the breath through a long, low whistle. Then she stood and went to see Angel about grabbing a late afternoon latte.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Sam, for provided me with a thorough background in genetics and related research. Because of her this fic might actually be somewhat plausible.
> 
> That being said, I am not a psychiatrist or a psychologist, so any mistakes inside Emma's SOAP are due entirely to my ignorance.


	12. Chapter 12

  


_rarely spoken  
rarely felt_

_eight letters_

_fall_

_easily from lips._

_startled by  
admissions  
long held  
hostage._

_lips that:  
devour,  
trust,  
want._

_Only you._

_No one else._

[Eight Letters, by Erik Lehnsherr, November, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/513240)

~*~

 

_Raven Interlude_

Raven was still thinking about yesterday's kiss; still thinking about the soft smile Azazel wore as they'd walked back to his bike, and then later, when he'd caught her gaze outside her therapist's, touching his fingers to the back of her gloved hand in lieu of goodbye. She'd shaken her head, then, and leaned forward, pressing a second kiss to the arch of his cheekbone. He'd grinned at her.

She touched her lips now, wondering why it was so different with Azazel, when the thought of contact with any man before him--aside from the platonic contact she had with Erik--left her stomach rolling with nausea and her skin crawling with disgust.

She could even cling to Azazel on the back of his bike, bodies pressed together more intimately than anything she'd known since Erik had saved her, and it did nothing but fill her with affection. Was this, she wondered, what it meant to fall in love?

She moved around the apartment as she pondered the question, straightening picture frames and fluffing pillows. It was early yet, Erik not due home for hours. She wondered if she ought to call Azazel and invite him over; even went so far as to retrieve her phone and bring up his number. She was staring at it on the screen, debating whether to hit the call button, when the door's buzzer rang.

The sound of it was startling against the still quiet of early afternoon. Raven jumped, pulse leaping in her throat. She turned to stare at the intercom, glancing to her phone and then back to the door. Erik would never use the buzzer, and Azazel would text or call first, and she hadn't ordered anything, so for the life of her she couldn't figure out who would be visiting her. She pocketed her phone and crossed to the intercom. In the time it took her to get there, the buzzer sounded a second time.

"Hello," she said, pressing down the talk button, tension making her posture rigid; ridiculous given that she was safely locked away upstairs and her doorman wouldn't permit anyone entry who hadn't been invited up.

"Hello, Raven. Sorry, it's Charles," came the reply, Raven blinking, Charles the last person she expected. Her early tension vanished. She let him up.

She knew as soon as she opened the door, _Erik's not here_ on her tongue, that something had happened.

"Is Erik all right?" she asked. If she sounded more than a little panicked, she could hardly be blamed.

Charles shook his head. "He's fine. Well, physically the last time I saw him he was fine." Raven narrowed her gaze, taking in Charles' dishevelled appearance; [the wrinkled clothes, the unkempt hair, the scruffy face](http://www.nekosmuse.com/scruffycharles.png). Dark circles weighted his eyes. It looked like he'd been crying. Charles let out a pathetic sounding laugh.

"I haven't slept in over thirty hours now," he said, and then, "I spent the night in the lab," which would probably explain his appearance, but not what he was doing showing up on their doorstep like a wayward puppy crawling home to its master.

Raven stepped aside, permitting him entry, Charles looking oddly relieved when she did. She led him over to the couch, where he collapsed with barely suppressed glee.

"Erik won't be home for a few hours, but you're welcome to wait. Do you want some tea?" she asked.

Charles looked a little surprised, but he nodded, and five minutes later when Raven returned with a steaming cup, he offered an apologetic smile.

"While I am here to see Erik, too, I was actually hoping I could ask you something," he said, sipping at his tea and closing his eyes, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips.

Raven set her tea down on the coffee table, folded her hands together and laced them over her crossed knee. "Shoot," she said.

Charles exhaled. He was starting to look a little forlorn. New worry spiked in Raven's chest.

"It's nothing drastic, but I think I've done something to upset Erik, and I'm not sure what that something is."

Raven frowned at that, because Erik was in a reasonably good mood before he left the house this morning. Granted, he'd moped a bit, because Charles hadn't spent the night and he hated it when Charles didn't spend the night, but his shoes were out, which meant he'd gone for a run, so by the time Raven had gotten up he was more or less his usual post-run chipper self--for as much as Erik ever did chipper, anyway.

"Details," Raven said, leaning forward. Charles seemed a bit hesitant, but after a minute he set his tea down, relaxed back into the sofa and started talking.

"He came back to mine for lunch, and one thing led to another," Raven held up a hand, gestured for Charles to skip past that point, because she really didn't need to know. "Anyway, halfway through things kind of fell apart, and the next thing I know he's slipping into his clothes and apologizing because he's going to be late for his appointment."

"To be fair," Raven said, "he does have an appointment this afternoon."

Charles let out an exasperated little sigh. "At 2:30, he said, but this happened at 12:00." He bit into the side of his lip then, looking more than a little frantic. "It's not the aborted," he gestured, "you know. It's the fact that he wouldn't even tell me what I'd done or not done and now I'm not even sure if I should be here, even though he asked me to spend the night and..." he trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Sorry, I've had far too little sleep for this."

Watching Charles now, Raven was half afraid he might burst into tears. At the very least he seemed on the verge of falling over unconscious. Oh, Erik, she thought, you utter, utter idiot.

"Do you know where Erik is right now?" Raven asked. Charles looked up sharply.

"His psychiatrist," he answered, and at least Erik had shared that much--she had no idea with him half the time, and she wouldn't have put it past him to have kept that tidbit of information from Charles.

"Yeah," Raven said, "And while it's not my place to talk about his mental health, I will say that Erik is probably the second most screwed up person I know." She was the first, but Charles didn't need to know that.

Charles squinted. "So what you're saying is?" He sounded utterly confused.

"I'm saying my brother is hopelessly in love with you, and if you care about him at all--if you want a relationship with him--then you need to be patient and more than a little understanding, because some of the shit he does, or is going to do, isn't going to make much sense."

Charles' eyes were wide now, and it occurred to Raven that Erik probably hadn't told Charles he loved him yet. Still, it seemed to get her point across, because Charles was nodding, like he was more than willing to endure anything Erik had to dish out--and it would be a lot--if it meant keeping Erik.

They were both ridiculous, she thought, and then blushed as her thoughts turned to Azazel. To cover it, she reached for her tea, sipping at it until she felt a little less like asking Charles if he still got butterflies in his stomach whenever he thought of Erik.

"You know, he's still going to be a few hours, and you look like you're about to fall over. I'm fairly certain he's not going to mind if you borrow his bed until he gets home," she said, though the truth was Erik would probably be thrilled to come home and find Charles curled up in his bed--he'd probably crawl in with him and then Raven would have to fend for herself for dinner.

It was probably a good thing she had to work tonight.

Charles looked a little apprehensive, but Raven merely arched an eyebrow at him, Charles eventually relenting. He stifled a yawn as he polished off the last of his tea, taking it into the kitchen before heading towards Erik's bedroom. When he got to the hall, he turned back to face her.

"I just," he started, and then shook his head. "Thank you," he finally settled on. Raven smiled, flicking her hand at him in a gesture to just go to bed already. Charles laughed, and then disappeared down hall.

~*~

Erik felt oddly unfocused as he climbed from the subway and began the short walk to his apartment. Sometime during his appointment the weather had turned, the sky overcast, threatening rain--or maybe even a light dusting of snow; it was certainly cold enough. It was early enough that the streets were mostly cleared of pedestrians--as much as New York was ever cleared of pedestrians. Erik walked easily down the sidewalk, not really noticing where he was going; the route so familiar now he could probably travel it in his sleep.

He could barely remember what he'd talked about with Dr. Frost. He knew he'd somehow ended up adding an extra appointment each week, and at one point he remembered proclaiming--quite loudly--that he was in love with Charles. The rest was a blur. Even now Erik couldn't seem to get his thoughts to settle. This had only happened to him once before--that night he'd punched Shaw in the face. Erik let out a sharp breath that sounded somewhat like a barked laugh, and then slowly inhaled, exhaling again so that by the time he approached his building, he no longer felt like he might come apart at the seams.

Therapy was supposed to help, not make things worse.

He told himself this was helping; that Charles deserved someone who actually had his shit together, and Erik was more than willing to do everything it took to ensure that someone was him. He needed to start by apologizing--explaining, too, because Dr. Frost was right when she said he needed to talk to Charles; to actually tell Charles the stuff that went on inside his head so that Charles wasn't blindsided by it again. He just hoped he didn't scare Charles off, because Erik wasn't entirely certain what he'd do if Charles decided Erik was just a bit too high maintenance for him.

He'd just have to be calm about it; cool and collected. He'd go home, have a shower, call Charles and invite him to dinner. They hadn't done that yet, and Erik thought it might be nice, having a quiet, intimate conversation over a linen-covered table. Then he'd bring Charles home where they could crawl into bed and not come out until morning.

The pleasantness of the thought did little to dissuade the tension in his shoulders; his mood still sour, a heavy weight pressing in his chest as he [stood in his lobby, waiting for the elevator to arrive.](http://www.nekosmuse.com/elevator.jpg)

That weight was still there when he finally got upstairs, the apartment empty and strangely quiet. Erik toed off his shoes, dropped his satchel on the floor and hung his coat over a doorknob.

"Raven?" he called. When no one answered, he moved to the kitchen, expecting to find a note sitting on the island. There was nothing, but a second later Raven appeared, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that didn't quite contain her short haircut. She only ever wore it pulled back when she was on the computer, which explained why the apartment was so quiet. Erik offered a smile.

The smile must not have been convincing, because she immediately crossed to his side and, in a low voice, asked, "Are you all right?"

Erik let out a little chuckle and then ran a hand through his hair. "Rough therapy session," he said. She gave an understanding nod.

"I think I might be able to cheer you up," she said. Erik arched an eyebrow, but instead of answering she gestured over her shoulder.

Erik narrowed his eyes, but Raven only smiled, sly and mysterious. She started walking back towards the hall, Erik following reluctantly, confused when Raven led him past the office, and then past her room until Erik was standing outside the half-closed door to his bedroom. He gave Raven another quizzical glance, but she only grinned, nodded at the door, and then vanished back to way they'd come.

Erik really hoped she hadn't decided to decorate his room--not that he didn't appreciate everything she'd done with the rest of the apartment, but he wasn't really a knickknack and artwork kind of guy.

He pushed open the door, expecting the worse, but instead of finding new linens with matching pillowcases, he found Charles, sound asleep in the centre of his bed. Erik glanced back down the hall, but Raven was nowhere to be found, so he slipped into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him. For the longest time he merely stood, staring down at Charles' sleeping form. Charles looked impossibly young--impossibly innocent--nestled amongst Erik's blankets, arm curled around Erik's pillow. An overwhelming surge of affection blossomed in Erik's chest. He took a faltering step towards the bed, sitting down gingerly on the edge of it. The blanket had slipped while Charles was sleeping, revealing a pale shoulder and part of his upper back. Erik couldn't help but reach out and touch.

He wanted to compose entire sonnets to this man.

He ran fingertips down the line of Charles' spine, pulling the blanket with him until it pooled around Charles' waist. Charles was wearing boxers, but nothing else. There was something about the sight of Charles, completely at ease in the middle of Erik's bed that made Erik's heart swell.

"I love you," he said out loud. The words felt heavy in his mouth, awkward, but his stomach settled as he said them, the chaos of the day clearing as he realized this was what he was working towards.

He wanted to come home to this every day; to wake to Charles in his bed and to go to sleep with Charles curled at his side. He wanted mornings spent fighting over the shower, and evenings spent lounging on the couch, feet tangled together as Charles worked on lab reports and Erik struggled to put words on paper. He even wanted uncomplicated sex that wasn't bogged down by his history; sex that didn't leave him feeling guilty or uncertain or impossibly dirty. He wanted what everyone wanted; a normal, healthy relationship.

The freckle on the back of Charles' neck beckoned to him, as tantalizing now as it was the first time Erik had noticed it, so he leaned forward and pressed his lips against it, silently vowing that he would make himself worthy of Charles' affections. Charles, undoubtedly exhausted, only murmured in his sleep, so Erik pulled away, feeling lighter than he had all day. He stood then, shedding his clothes before crawling under the covers to press against Charles' side, hand splayed possessively over the small of Charles' back. Unconsciously, Charles shifted into Erik's embrace, Charles' side to Erik's front, like two puzzle pieces that fit together in infinite combinations. Erik rested his chin atop Charles' head, inhaling the scent of Charles' hair.

For the longest time Erik merely lay there, wide awake and enjoying Charles' presence, but at some point he must have fallen asleep, because between one second and the next, he opened his eyes to find the room had grown dark; Charles awake and staring down at him from his perch atop an elbow.

"Hello," Charles said. He seemed unaccountable nervous, lip caught between his teeth, cheeks flushed pink. Erik smiled.

"Hello," Erik said, pressing up to seal their lips together. Charles instantly relaxed. When Erik pulled back, Charles was wearing a somewhat dopey looking grin. "What time is it?" he asked.

Charles had to clear his throat before he could answer. "A little after 7:00," he said, and then added, "Raven texted us both to say she was grabbing a bite with Azazel and then going to work, that Azazel would drive her home."

Erik nodded, giddy suddenly at the prospect of having Charles to himself. "We should go out," he said, because Charles may have derailed his plans for a shower and an official, over-the-phone invitation, but Erik still wanted to take Charles to dinner.

And so did Charles, if his smile was any indication. He practically beamed. Erik used the hand wrapped around Charles' waist to pull Charles close, thumb rubbing absent circles against Charles' ribs. Charles' smile turned suggestive, and he moved closer, settling against Erik in a way that left little doubt as to his intentions. His hand came to rest against Erik's pectoral. Reluctantly, Erik withdrew his arm and put some distance between them.

It wasn't his intention to reject Charles' overture, but that was exactly how Charles took it. He shifted back as though burnt, smile slipping from his face, hurt flashing in his eyes. Erik wanted to kick himself. Instead he reached for Charles again and pulled him close.

"No," he said, which likely only confused Charles further, because his brow furrowed, his mouth pressing into a line even as he brought hands to Erik's chest, pushing to keep space between them. Erik took a steadying breath. "My psychiatrist thinks I'm moving too fast with you," he said, the ghost of an earlier, aborted conversation. "She thinks there are some things I should talk to you about, preferably before we have sex again."

Charles' eyes grew wide, though Erik knew it wasn't shock. He'd started this conversation shortly after Charles had found out about his mother's death, and while Erik had immediately changed the topic, not wanting to burden Charles with his own problems, he knew Charles was expecting it to come up again.

It was probably too soon. Charles still hadn't processed his mother's death--if anything, Erik suspected he was doing a very good job of repressing the entire thing. Were it not for the fact that Erik thought he owed Charles an explanation for earlier, they would not be having this conversation now.

"Okay," Charles said when Erik didn't say anything else. "Do you want to..." he made a vague gesture, which could have meant anything from _have sex_ to _have that conversation_ to _ignore the whole thing entirely_. Since Erik was leaning towards the latter, he decided on postponing the inevitable.

"Let's shower, go out and grab some dinner, and then I'll recount today's therapy session." He was trying for lighthearted--trying for diffident--but his words came out resigned. Charles still nodded.

"Shower it is," he said, already moving from the bed.

In retrospect, if Erik was hoping to avoid sex, showering together was probably not the way to go about it. Too late it occurred to him that a naked, wet Charles would not be conducive to rational thought. No sooner was he under the spray, Charles pressed beside him, still looking more than a little unsure, than Erik was reaching for him, drawing Charles into his arms.

"Erik," Charles said, surprised and more than a little breathless, but Erik merely pressed against him until Charles stumbled back a step, back hitting the tile wall where Erik could pin him, hands coming to Charles' hips to hold him fast. He brought his mouth to Charles' pulse point, and sucked. Charles melted against him.

"I'm sorry," Erik mumbled into Charles' neck, tasting salt. He had no idea what he was apologizing for--earlier, or changing his mind, or maybe just pushing this forward while he was still worried he might be taking advantage. Or maybe he was just apologizing for being impossibly screwed up.

"It's okay," Charles said, like Erik had apologized for all those things and it really was okay, Charles really did forgive him. Erik groaned, pressed Charles a little harder into the tile, and reached for his cock.

It was easily the most hurried, frantic sex they'd had to date; traded hand jobs under the fine mist of the shower's spray, Erik's face buried in the space between Charles' neck and shoulder, Charles' head tipped back as he leaned against the tile. It simultaneously took too long and was over too fast, Erik more than a little desperate by the time he came, mind blissfully blank, Charles simply Charles, not a student or an object or some debased animal. He was still glad for the shower, though; where he could pass off the dampness in his eyes as water.

Charles, who had shuddered against him moments before Erik found his own release, tilted his head down, nuzzling against Erik's cheek until Erik was forced to pull back, make eye contact. There were at least a dozen questions in Charles' eyes, not to mention a good deal of worry. Erik offered a reassuring smile.

"It was seeing you in my class," he said, which was obviously not what Charles was expecting him to say, because he frowned, clearly confused.

Erik pulled away, taking a moment to duck his head beneath the spray. When he had rinsed, he grabbed Charles by the shoulders and changed their positions, and then reached for the shampoo. Charles lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing when Erik began working lather into his hair.

"As nice as this is..." Charles said, leaning into Erik's touch. There was something about washing Charles' hair that provided a nice counterbalance to the vulnerability Erik was feeling, so Erik opted for honesty.

"I don't want to end up like Shaw," he said, fingers digging into Charles' scalp, massaging gently in small circles as he moved from Charles' temples to the nap of his neck. When he was done, he repeated the motion in the opposite direction. Charles mewed.

"I'm not sure how to tell you this," Charles said--he sounded drugged--"but from what little I saw of the man, and from what you've told me, you are pretty much the exact opposite of Shaw."

It was the last thing Erik was expecting Charles to say, his hands stilling. Charles, who had been watching him intently, the blue of his eyes filling Erik's gaze, closed his eyes against a sudden trail of suds. Erik brought a thumb to the side of Charles' eye to wipe them aside.

"Earlier, I imagined you were a student, like I thought you were when we first met." It physically hurt to admit as much, but at the same time, it was oddly cathartic. Fingers still moving through Charles' hair, Erik closed his eyes against the memory. When he opened them, Charles was smiling.

He reached up to still Erik's hands, tugging until Erik relinquished Charles' head, Charles holding fast when Erik tried to pull away, tugging Erik's arms down until their twined hands rested between them. He tipped his head back and rinsed the shampoo. Erik watched, mesmerized by the look of peaceful contentment on Charles' face. Charles did not resurface until the water trailing over his shoulders and tracing lines down his torso ran clean.

"There is a fairly large difference between fantasy and reality. You and I are both consenting adults, equals, so if you want to fantasize about me being a student, you can do that, and it won't make you a bad person," Charles said, squeezing Erik's hand when Erik opened his mouth to object. "I'm not saying you should, because that's not something I can determine, but if you did, if you wanted to--hell, if you wanted to role-play that scenario--I'm not going to think less of you for it."

Erik couldn't think of anything to say to that, but he apparently didn't have to, because Charles slid forward, releasing Erik's hands so that he could wrap his arms around Erik's waist.

They stayed like that only for a few minutes, until the water started to turn cold, cutting short the remainder of their shower. Charles pulled away first, reaching behind to fiddle with the dial, getting the water shut off before he drew back the curtain.

"If it helps," he said, "we haven't done anything I haven't thoroughly enjoyed."

Erik flashed back to the other night--to the tiny bathroom in his room, the one with the shower stall that wouldn't have been big enough for the both of them--to Charles bent over a sink, and the sated smile spread across his face.

Charles stepped out of the tub and reached for one of the towels Erik had set on the counter. He handed it to Erik and then retrieved his own. Looking at him now, watching the easy way he towelled himself dry, like they did this every night, Erik wondered if maybe he was wrong; maybe he wasn't taking advantage of Charles. Maybe he simply wasn't the only person falling in love.

~*~

 _Anywhere_ , Erik had said, like the sky was the limit, the occasion meant to be memorable. Charles could think of nowhere he'd rather go than Veselka.

He said as much, Erik nodding, like he would have given Charles the world if only Charles asked. Charles laughed, taking Erik's hand as they left Erik's building, leading him towards the East Village, no more than a fifteen minute walk from Erik's apartment in Union Square. There was something in the relaxed slope of Erik's posture, the tension he'd been wearing earlier in the day having disappeared, that left Charles immensely reassured. He kept thinking back to what Raven had said, about Erik being head over heels in love with him. He was starting to suspect that might be true.

The thought made him giddy and light-footed, Charles practically skipping. Erik looked at him like maybe he was a little crazy--a little wonderful, too--but Charles only smirked; earning a genuine laugh that dissipated the last of his worry. Erik tugged at his hand then, pulling Charles close, keeping an arm around Charles' shoulder, siphoning Charles' heat until Charles had to press closer, steal some of Erik's heat in turn, the space between them becoming as warm and comfortable as Charles' mood.

New York was a beautiful city at night; lights stretched out as far as the eye could see, stretching heavenward until the low-lying clouds were illuminated in shades of pink and orange. Tonight would bring snow, though just a dusting, and undoubtedly by next week the weather would have turned again, growing warm enough to shed jackets and scarves. Tonight, however, Charles breathed deep the cool, clean air, letting it fill his lungs in a way he never could when the weather was warm. He nestled closer to Erik, pointing out the occasional landmark that caught his gaze.

"There used to be a little bookstore there," he said, pointing to what was now a coffee shop. "It was where I bought my first genetics book. I was eight." Charles remembered the trip fondly, Mrs. Forrester having agreed to take him despite Charles' mother's objections.

Erik said nothing, but he listened, soft smile playing across his lips, like the last few days had already faded into half-forgotten memory. He slowed to a stop, however, when Charles pointed out [their intended destination](http://veselka.com).

"There?" Erik asked, sounding unconvinced.

"Trust me," Charles said, ignoring Erik's skepticism. Not that Charles could blame him, because the first time Moira had brought him here--and God, Charles had only just started his PhD, their lunch meant to be his official 'welcome to Columbia' lunch--Charles had been skeptical too. Now he ate here whenever he could; and couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather take Erik for their first official date.

"I tried to take my mother here once," Charles said as they went inside. He should have known it was a bad idea, his mother turning up her nose, refusing to set foot even on the sidewalk out front. Later she'd sent him both the name and number of a highly qualified psychologist. Charles hadn't called, though he still had the number.

Veselka was always packed, tiny black tables strewn about the floor, only a handful unoccupied. The scent of butter and salt permeated the air. In a couple of hours, the room will be filled to capacity, the place practically an institution with the late night crowd. More than once Charles had eaten late night eggs while fighting off an inevitable hangover.

"I was planning on taking you somewhere fancy," Erik said when they found their table.

"This is fancy," Charles said, thinking back to his childhood and dinners spent seated around the long, formal dining table, and then to his time at boarding school, where even lunches were eaten with an array of cutlery. He thought back to his mother's visits, and the myriad of over-priced, over-hyped restaurants they'd dined in.

This was much, much better.

Erik was smiling at him over the top of his menu, looking entirely too fond. He looked a little startled, too, like he couldn't quite figure out how they'd gotten here, so Charles purposely crossed his legs under the table, letting his foot brush against Erik's shin. The maneuver earned him an arched eyebrow, and Erik turned back to his menu, though not before Charles caught the faint hint of blush colouring his cheeks.

"Their stroganoff is particularly good," Charles said.

Erik ended up ordering Goulash, something apparently his mother used to make, though Erik was certain the ingredients were different.

"I taught myself how to cook because I wanted to be able to duplicate it, but I haven't been able to yet," he said. Charles smiled at him across the table.

"I don't think my mother's ever set foot in a kitchen in her life, though one of the cooks did make a lovely cold pea soup that I miss terribly."

It was a remarkable thing, talking to Erik about family. Erik shared what little he remembered of his mother--and most of those memories seemed centered around the kitchen, _I still have no idea what she put into her latkes to make them taste so good_ \--while Charles shared anecdotes about his, _She would only drink bottled water from the Fiji region, so if there was none in the house, she'd drink gin instead, claiming any other liquid would kill her_. It hurt, somewhat, to talk about his mother, and he could tell Erik felt the same, the pinched look around the corner of his eyes growing more pronounced the more he shared. Still, it wasn't until they'd finished eating, their plates cleared, two coffees set between them, that Charles thought to change the subject.

"Do you think about having your own, kids I mean?" he asked, stirring milk into his coffee. The clinking of his spoon against the cup seemed startlingly loud, despite the din of the surrounding conversation. He winced at a particularly loud clink, pulled the spoon from the cup and set it on the table. Over Erik's shoulder, a group of students were discussing the impending Thanksgiving break. When Charles glanced back to Erik, he found Erik wearing a thoughtful expression.

"Before," he said, not putting the condition into context, "I would have said no. Now..." He shrugged, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. Charles breath caught at the implication.

"Yeah," Charles said, because he rather knew exactly what Erik meant.

"Her name's Dr. Frost, by the way," Erik said then, as though it was an extension of the conversation they were having. It took Charles several seconds to catch up with the topic change. To mask his surprise, Charles took a sip from his coffee.

"Okay," he said, too tentative, he knew, but there was something in Erik's posture--something in Erik's expression--that said this was important; that Charles had to treat this with reverence.

"I started seeing her shortly after I moved to New York. I had one before, several before, actually, in Heidelberg, but she's the first one I've made any progress with. I see her once, no, twice a week now."

Erik paused, sipping from his own coffee, heavily splashed with cream. Charles remained silent--he was barely breathing--giving Erik a chance to collect his thoughts. Erik set his coffee down, gaze never once leaving Charles' face, as though he was daring Charles to comment--daring Charles to mock him. Charles wondered who else had.

"I only starting seeing a psychiatrist because of Raven, because she wanted me to," he said once it became clear that Charles wasn't going to comment. "But I think it's helping."

There were a thousand things Charles wanted to ask, but instead he remained silent, hands occupied by his coffee mug, knees pressed tight against Erik's, as if he could transfer some of his strength through contact alone. Erik cleared his throat; glanced away for the first time since he'd begun talking. When he glanced back up, he seemed a little uncertain.

"She thinks I have a warped understanding of relationships and sex, because of Shaw. It's probably why I'm not particularly good at them." He trailed off then, though Charles could tell he wanted to say more. Without thinking, Charles reached across the table to grab one of Erik's hands, turning his palm up so that Erik's hand fit perfectly into his. He gave a brief squeeze.

"You're doing a pretty good job so far," Charles said.

It was somewhat of a surprise to note the look of startled wonderment that flickered across Erik's features. For the longest time he merely stared at Charles, like he wasn't entirely sure who Charles was; where he had come from or even how they'd ended up here. A second later he shook his head, glancing down at their twined hands.

"I can't figure out what I did to deserve you," he said.

Charles laughed. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

"I'm serious," Erik said, glancing up.

He caught Charles' eye then, Charles startled to see nothing but gratitude reflected in his gaze. There was very little he could say to that, except, perhaps, "So am I."

~*~

_Remy Interlude_

There be days when Remy thought it might be good to get himself some assistants. He liked working alone, but this digging through records spiel was getting old fast. Worth it, he told himself, if only to have an Xavier in his pocket; not to mention Remy had a particular disliking of anyone who tried to con bright eyed, naïve kids, and Charles was a bright-eyed naïve kid.

That Lehnsherr fellow he'd brought to their meeting was another story--Remy wouldn't want to be on his bad side--so at least he be reassured Charles had someone looking out for him.

"Ah," Remy said, pulling out the document in question. It had taken the better part of his Wednesday to track down Brian Xavier's law firm. His request for copies had come back stamped with a six to eight week ETA--not something Remy thought agreeable, so he was spending his Thursday after hours taking matters into his own hand. Nothing he hadn't done before, and all in the name of justice, but it was still a good thing he had a few cops for friends, because if he got caught breaking into one of New York's top law firms in the middle of the night, it probably wouldn't be too good for his career.

"Now let's take a look, shall we," he said, leaning against a file cabinet as he flipped through the pages of Brian Xavier's will.

There be days when Remy thought he might be psychic, but it was still nice to have his instincts confirmed.

"That be what I thought," he said, pocketing the will before he turned towards the exit. He glanced at his watch; two minutes before the security system rebooted and he lost his cover. It also paid having friends in the security business, but then, Remy had friends in every business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thank yous to stlkrchck, for giving us a location for Charles and Erik's first date, and for providing all the details to flesh the scene out.


	13. Chapter 13

  


_milestones_

_indices of  
progress_

_measured against  
artificial markers._

_before,  
measured in_

_pain  
anguish_

_counting off  
distance from._

_measured now  
as distance  
towards_

_horizons  
endless  
possibilities_

[Steps, by Erik Lehnsherr, November, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/518358)

~*~  


From somewhere across the room, Charles' phone chirped. Right front pocket, he recalled, though it did him little good, his jeans pooled in a heap near the foot of Erik's bed. The phone chirped again. Charles ignored it in favour of arching into the fingertips trailing across his shoulder.

"Good morning," he said, sounding more than a little hoarse; understandable given what they'd been up to last night.

Most of yesterday, in fact, their date on Wednesday culminating in them calling in on Thursday; spending the better part of the day locked inside Erik's bedroom. There were days when it honestly surprised Charles that he hadn't been fired yet. He suspected only the news of his mother's death was keeping the school's administration from asking too many questions. Well, that and it helped that the department head was one of his closest friends.

In lieu of responding, Erik followed the path of his fingers with the tip of his tongue, pausing only to bite at the tendon on the side of Charles' neck. Charles hissed.

"I hate to tell you this, but we probably don't have time for this," Charles said, but Erik was unrelenting, mouthing at Charles' neck like he fully intended for Charles to go to Los Angeles covered in hickeys. "Ah, I have a plane to catch."

Erik murmured something non-committal, and then made for Charles' ear.

"At least tell me what time it is," Charles tried. It was very hard to focus with Erik pressed against the length of his back, mouth hot against Charles' jaw, arm wrapped protectively around Charles' chest.

"It's early," Erik said, dragging the side of his face--all coarse scruff--against the soft nap of Charles' neck. Beard burn and hickeys, Charles thought with a grimace; that would near impossible to hide.

"How early?" It was somewhat startling to realize Charles was starting not to care if he missed his flight. His phone chirped again.

"Six o'clock early," Erik said, which would explain the darkness. It also meant they did have time; a considerable amount of time, Charles thought with a smile. He sifted back until he could feel Erik's erection. Erik groaned.

It was somewhat surprising Erik was still interested after yesterday--hell, it was somewhat surprising Charles was still capable. He'd lost count of how many times they'd come--five, it was five--between Wednesday night and now. Apparently recounting therapy sessions was good for Erik's libido, because he seemed rather intent on breaking some sort of record.

It couldn't last--the constant sex, not the relationship, which Charles had high hopes would last forever. There was only so long they could maintain this pace before the giddy thrill of newfound love was trumped by stamina. Already Charles ached in places he hadn't thought it possible to ache. He was discovering muscles he hadn't known existed--and given his background, that was saying something.

Erik placed a sharp bite on the curve of his shoulder.

"I'm going to have to wear turtlenecks all weekend," Charles protested, but he shifted back into the sensation, craving more. Erik chuckled.

"Then wear turtlenecks."

"I don't even own turtlenecks," Charles tried, laughing now, because Erik was nosing his way down Charles' spine, a ticklish trail that left him twisting and turning, pushing into the sensation as often as he squirmed away.

"So borrow some of mine," Erik said. He'd disappeared beneath the covers, voice muffled; mouth having found the small of Charles' back. Charles thought about [spending the weekend wearing Erik's clothes](http://www.nekosmuse.com/turtle.jpg) and groaned. Erik smiled against his skin.

"God, I haven't even packed," Charles realized. It was somewhat shameful how _distracting_ Erik was. He was completely ill-prepared for this trip.

Erik resurfaced from beneath the covers, breath warm and moist against the shell of Charles' ear. "See how much easier it would be if you had all your stuff here," he said.

Charles' breath caught. This wasn't the first time Erik had hinted that he wanted Charles to move in, but it was certainly the most aggressive. Had Erik simply asked, Charles would have agreed in an instant. Since he hadn't, Charles said, "You know, I cleaned out a drawer for you."

They hadn't been to Charles' place since--at least, not for the night--but the drawer was empty, awaiting anything Erik wanted to put into it.

Erik settled back against him, erection pressed into Charles' backside, and said, "And if the drawer was here I could use it." He sounded positively smug, like he already knew Charles' answer. The last twenty-four hours had done wonders to fast-forward their relationship. Charles rocked his hips back, earning a sharp hiss, and decided on a direct attack.

"You want me to move in," he said.

He expected a simple yes; instead he was rendered speechless by Erik's answer.

"I want all the people I love under one roof."

For one brief, terrifying moment, Charles thought he might burst into tears. During that time, he felt Erik tense behind him, confirmation that Erik had said what Charles had thought he'd said--had meant what Charles had thought he'd meant. By the time he was finally capable of speaking, Erik was already pulling away, undoubtedly taking Charles' silence as rejection. Charles couldn't have that, so without thinking he blurted, "I think I've been in love with you since the third time I saw you," and then, because it seemed relevant to the conversation, added, "Of course I'll move in with you."

Erik relaxed, the arm around Charles' waist tightening. Charles felt Erik smile against the back of his neck. He nipped then, teeth scrapping Charles' skin.

From the floor, Charles' phone chirped again. Erik chuckled.

"It's been doing that all morning," he said.

"Yes," Charles agreed, but he made no move to retrieve the phone. Instead he turned in Erik's embrace so that they were face to face.

"It might be important," Erik said, but he was smiling, already nuzzling close, biting at Charles' lips like they had all the time in the world. Charles surged forward and caught his lips in a proper kiss.

"It's probably just Hank, calling to make sure I'm up," Charles said when he pulled back. Erik was leaned over him now, pressing him into the mattress, the soft-cotton of Erik's sheets cool against Charles' back. Charles let his legs splay wide.

Erik's face took on a rather hard look.

"That's nice of him," he said, sounding suspicious. Charles laughed.

"I can assure you," he said, rocking so that Erik had no choice but to nestle between his legs, bare cock pressed against bare cock, "It is entirely selfish on his behalf. He's a bit of a control freak."

If Erik heard, he showed no sign, hips circling, lip caught between his teeth, thoroughly distracted by the heat building between them. Charles understood completely.

It didn't seem to matter how many times they did this, there was never a moment Charles wasn't completely swept away by it. He'd lost count of the number of people he'd slept with over the years, but none of them had inspired the same passion Erik did. There were days when Charles would have been perfectly content to never leave Erik's bed, no matter how stained the sheets. Erik was biting at his neck now, leaving more marks to be hidden by a borrowed turtleneck. Charles wanted so badly for Erik to fuck him; to feel Erik inside him, for the sensation to linger throughout his flight. Instead he grabbed Erik by the hips, pulled him up, positioning him so that Charles could trail fingers down the crack of Erik's ass.

Yesterday's lube had grown tacky and dry, but Erik still moaned when Charles brushed fingers over his hole. For someone who claimed a warped understanding of sex, Erik was easily the most receptive partner Charles had had. Charles could have spent hours taking Erik apart; and thoroughly enjoyed every minute. Erik accepted Charles' every touch like he was desperate for it; like he thought himself unworthy of it and was amazed Charles didn't agree.

Keeping two fingers pressed against Erik, Charles fumbled with his other hand, finally reaching Erik's nightstand, where Erik's lube--almost empty now; they would have to buy more--and a box of condoms sat from last night.

"Are you okay?" Charles asked once he had the lube in hand. Erik seemed to clue in to Charles' intentions. He stopped rocking, shook his head, and reached for Charles' hand.

"Probably not a good time," he said, which was clear enough, so Charles nodded and went back to simply playing with the outer ring of muscle around Erik's anus. Erik, who had plucked the lube from Charles' hand, used a liberal dollop to cover their cocks, pressing them tight together and wrapping a hand around them.

The circle of his fingers barely contained them, though that was mostly Erik's fault--Erik was also easily the biggest partner Charles had ever had. It often took all of Charles' willpower not to beg Erik to fuck him, especially after the last--and only--time. He'd felt the persistent ache of it all the next day, Erik having filled him perfectly. To keep from asking now, Charles reached between them and added a hand to the mix. Erik groaned.

Between them they set a steady tempo, Erik wrapped around their bases, Charles playing with their heads, fingers sliding neatly into Erik's slit, circling around his cut head, and then tugging on his own foreskin, rubbing circles around his swollen tip. It was a messy affair, lube and precome everywhere. They would both need showers, and the sheets were overdue for a changing. Charles would undoubtedly feel bad, leaving Erik to contend with the cleanup, but for the moment he was too far gone to spare the matter a thought. It was all he could do to rock against Erik as Erik thrust down into him, cocks sliding together, balls brushing; skin tingling wherever they made contact.

It still amazed him how quickly Erik brought him to the edge. He could feel his orgasm building already, balls drawing tight as he thrust helplessly into the circle of Erik's hand. Erik didn't slow, coaxing Charles towards his peak with whispered encouragement, words like _Come on_ and _That's it_ breathed into Charles' ear. Charles was fairly certain Erik had no idea he was even speaking, let alone knew what he was saying. He always seemed so determined to make Charles come.

Charles had yet to disappoint.

Erik brushed a free hand against Charles' nipple, pinching slightly as he did, and that was Charles' undoing, still surprising considering how many times they had done this over the last twenty-four hours. He had a hairpin trigger where Erik was concerned, especially when Erik was focused on him, intent with desire and unrestrained want. Charles shuddered through his orgasm, spilling between them, come spattering his stomach, Erik, and the sheets. Erik pulled back, startled despite the ferocity of his effort. He glanced between them, staring at Charles' spent cock with a look of smug wonder. Charles whimpered.

"Sorry," he managed, uncertain what had caused his quick release, except perhaps that he was still floating high on confessions of love and plans for cohabitation. Erik shook his head, dismissal of Charles' apology, Charles knew, but he didn't start moving again. Charles immediately reached for him, but before he could Erik grabbed his wrist. Charles froze.

"Erik?"

Erik still looked a little startled--looked a little lost, too. "Can I..." he said after a moment, but he didn't finish the question, so Charles only nodded--there was nothing he wouldn't let Erik do. In response, Erik very purposely took Charles' hands and placed them on either side of his head. When he was content Charles wouldn't move--or object--he ran a hand through the mess on Charles' stomach, coating him in lube and come until he was slick and stained. Erik settled back onto him.

And thrust.

There was something decidedly frantic in the rocking of his hips, Erik's dick sliding through the mess on Charles' stomach; brushing occasionally against his rapidly deflating, over-sensitized cock, catching in the space where his inner thigh met his pelvis.

Without ever penetrating Charles, Erik fucked him.

It was messy and desperate and just this side of uncomfortable, but Charles remained as still as Erik seemed to want him, hands loose above his head, body lax, letting Erik use him as Erik chased his own completion. It came after a particularly vicious snap of his hips, Erik pressing into Charles, jerking repeatedly until warm, wet semen spilled between them. Almost as soon as it was over Erik collapsed, face burying into the side of Charles' neck.

For the longest time, Charles didn't move, allowing Erik a moment to simply catch his breath. It wasn't until Erik shifted, tensing, his uncertainty betrayed by the tightening of his shoulders, that Charles ran a sticky hand through Erik's hair.

"God, that was hot," he said, which seemed to dispel Erik's uncertainty, because he laughed, entire body shaking against Charles', Charles only then registering just how heavy Erik was.

He nudged Erik sideways, rolling with him so that they were once again face to face. Erik blinked at him, and then smiled.

"Sorry," he said, but Charles caught the apology with his lips, shaking his head when he pulled back.

"I thought we talked about this," he said. Erik rolled his eyes.

"Yes, no apologizing for taking the things I want in bed," he said. Charles offered a bright smile. "You'll have to be patient with me. I'm not used to this. Seb..." he caught himself then, rolling his eyes a second time. "Shaw wasn't big on letting me have a say in what we did."

It was a measure of how far they'd come, Charles thought, that Erik could talk about Shaw now, without the haunted look that used to settle over his face whenever Shaw's name had come up before. Charles brought a hand to Erik's face, trailing fingers over his jaw. It helped to display the urge to hunt Sebastian Shaw down and hurt him for the things he'd done to Erik.

"Well I'm a big fan in letting you have a say. So far your ideas have been pretty amazing."

The grin that earned him was well worth the rushing he'd need to do to catch his flight. Charles answered with one of his own and pulled Erik back towards him. Erik came willingly.

~*~

It was probably ridiculously clingy, but Erik couldn't help but agree when Charles offered to let him accompany Charles home, and then to the school where his airport shuttle was scheduled to pick him up at 10:00. He wasn't entirely certain why Charles had offered, save perhaps that they'd showered together again--and no matter how many times Erik reminded himself it was a bad idea, it was still too tempting to resist--Erik unable to keep his hands to himself, and Charles had chuckled and said, "I absolutely do not have time anymore, but you can come see me off if you like." Erik had agreed before registering that maybe doing so might make him seem a little desperate.

It was just that he hated the idea of Charles leaving for the weekend; hated the idea of Charles being on the other side of the country, where Erik couldn't get to him if something happened and Charles needed him.

Raven would undoubtedly tell him he was being an idiot. He wasn't sure he disagreed.

It didn't help that Charles' ringing phone had turned out to be Charles' research partner, Hank--whom Erik had yet to meet and whom Erik had already taken a disliking to. He treated Charles like a wayward child, four messages reminding Charles of their flight, like Charles was incapable of keeping his itinerary details straight without Hank's assistant.

It was almost surprising that this mysterious Hank wasn't waiting for them when they got to Charles' office, Erik carrying Charles' suitcase, despite Charles' many protests.

"I just need to print some things out," Charles said, getting them in the door. Erik nodded, setting down Charles' suitcase before crossing to Charles' couch. It was an ugly monstrosity of a thing, and Erik had no idea why Charles kept it.

He was having a hard time tearing his gaze from Charles. He'd only been joking when he'd offered to loan Charles a turtleneck, but Charles had taken the offer seriously and was now wearing one of Erik's knitted ones. It was entirely too big on him, but Erik had felt a fierce surge of pride as soon as Charles slipped it on. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing Charles in his clothes. It more than made up for the irrational disappointment Erik had felt about the shirt covering Erik's marks.

He was in the middle of trying to decide if he could stretch the neck--just a little bit; enough so that Charles could still hide, but so that, from the right angle, people could see what it was he was trying to hide--when a voice echoed from the doorway.

"Oh, good, you made it on time."

Erik glanced over, expecting to find a middle-aged scientist-type. Instead he found himself staring at a younger guy, not unattractive, with a shaggy mop of brown hair and horn rimmed glasses. He looked somewhat exasperated, but altogether too fond. He glanced from Charles to Erik, eyes widening slightly when he found Erik staring at him. To Erik's delight, he immediately flinched back. Erik offered one of his [least sincere smiles](http://www.nekosmuse.com/smirk.jpg).

"Of course," Charles said, surfacing from beside his printer, where he was waiting for his itinerary to print. "Really, Hank; I wasn't going to miss our flight. When have I ever?" He laughed then, moving around to the front of his desk to make introductions.

Erik immediately stood. It was somewhat vindicating to find he towered over Charles' research partner.

In the small space that was Charles' narrow office, it felt almost claustrophobic, the three of them crowded together. Charles seemed oblivious to the tension as he gestured to Erik.

"Hank, this is Erik. Erik, this is Hank." He fell silent then, like he fully expected them to exchange pleasantries. It was only because Erik didn't want to disappoint Charles that he stepped forward, right into Hank's space, and extended a hand.

"A pleasure," he said, and if his grip was a little too tight, he could always excuse it as nerves. Hank winced, just a little, but he didn't say anything, flexing and relaxing his hand once Erik had released it; letting it fall back to his side.

"Likewise," he said.

Charles smiled brightly between them. Erik shifted a little closer to Charles' side. He didn't once take his eyes off Hank. Hank coughed, clearly uncomfortable.

"I suppose I should just..."he gestured out the door. Charles frowned, looking like he might protest, so Erik very carefully nudged his arm, Charles glancing, startled, in his direction.

"You have a message," Erik said, gesturing to the flashing red light of Charles' office phone. While Charles was distracted, Hank slipped from the room.

Charles shook his head, running a hand through his hair in that way that he did when he was working out a problem. There was something decidedly hesitant in the way that he glanced at the phone.

"Do you want me to...?" Erik started, which seemed to remind Charles of where he was and what he was doing. He glanced to the door, frowning when he found Hank gone, and then glanced back to the phone. Shaking his head, he crossed to the desk and, putting it on speaker phone, retrieved the message.

_Charles Xavier. This be Remy Lebeau. You need to call me a-sap._

It was somewhat startling to watch Charles carefully delete the message and then steadily begin packing his messenger bag. Erik moved to his side.

"You're not going to call back?" He had rather thought this was what Charles was waiting for. Charles' expression, when he finally met Erik's eye, suggested otherwise.

"One of the messages from this morning was from him, and I will call back, but I think I'd rather worry about this conference first," he said.

It was hardly Erik's place to argue, so instead he nodded and waited for Charles' nod before retrieving Charles' suitcase and walking him towards the door. They paused only so that Charles could lock his office, and then Charles led him back the way they'd come, linoleum floor tiles scuffed beneath the press of countless feet, the fluorescent lighting above flickering somewhat nauseatingly. Erik waited until they'd climbed into an elevator to speak.

"How long have you known Hank?" he asked.

He meant only to appease his curiosity, but there must have been something in his tone, because Charles glanced over sharply, gaze narrowing.

"Tell me you are not jealous of Hank," he said. Erik felt himself flush, even as he opened his mouth to deny it. "Oh, Erik, don't be ridiculous. Hank is one of my oldest friends, and someone who has done more for me than I probably deserved. You do not get to be territorial where he is concerned."

There wasn't much Erik could say to that--at least, nothing that wouldn't land him in a lot of hot water--so he carefully kept his mouth shut and followed Charles off the elevator. Hank was waiting for them by the front doors, turned so that he could watch out the glass, shoulders tense like he was expecting to have to rush out and catch their shuttle. Erik tried to push aside the awkward irritation he felt--jealousy the part of his brain that sounded like Raven said--but it was a losing battle. The best he could manage was to keep the sensation internalized, so that it didn't show on his face.

Charles stopped them walking several feet from where Hank was standing. Erik didn't miss the slight tightening of Hank's posture; the one that said he knew Charles and Erik were there, but was studiously ignoring them. Charles didn't seem to notice, but then he was intent on stepping into Erik's space, smile lighting up his features.

"I'm going to go to Los Angeles now," he said. "And while I'm there, I am going to spend my days attending a conference, and my nights pining for you in my hotel room. I trust that while I'm gone you will pine just as much, and then on Sunday night, when I get back, we can have marathon reunion sex."

It occurred to Erik then that he didn't want to let Charles go--that he wanted to follow Charles to L.A. because waiting for him to come home was probably going to kill him. Instead he leaned in and captured Charles' lips in a kiss. When he pulled back, Charles was looking decidedly flustered. Erik smirked.

"Call me," he said, and then, because Charles' shuttle still hadn't arrived, and he could, he drew Charles up into another kiss.

~*~

_Hank Interlude_

Hank tried not to listen to the hushed conversation going on behind him--he really did--but it was hard not to, and his hearing had always been good. He'd seen Charles in relationships before--of course he had--quite a few, in fact, so he knew this was simply Charles, swept up in love. It was still somewhat awkward to witness, not because he'd ever had any designs on Charles--never that--but because Hank was an intensely private man who didn't particularly care for public displays of affection.

Charles thought public displays of affection were made for him.

He waited until their conversation broke off, Erik brushing past him on his way out the door, to turn to Charles. Charles was still watching Erik, remaining strangely silent until Erik vanished from sight. Then he turned to Hank, soft smile playing on his lips. Hank wished desperately for the arrival of their shuttle.

"Well?" Charles asked, and this was what Hank was afraid of, because now he was going to have to give his opinion and that never went over well.

Still, he opted to cut straight to the point. "He's a little scary."

Insanely terrifying, was more like it, but Hank could hardly say that. Still, there was something very unbalanced about Erik; something that had Hank more than a little worried for Charles' safety. The last thing he wanted was for Charles to disappear, end up bits of meat in someone's freezer. What would happen to their research?

In the reflection of the door, Hank saw Charles frown.

It wasn't, Hank supposed, his place to question Charles' relationships, and God knew Charles had had plenty of those over the years, none of them particularly well chosen--except Scott; Hank had liked Scott--but this Erik set all of his instincts on edge.

"I mean, in an 'I'm sure he's actually harmless' kind of way," Hank clarified. Charles' frown deepened.

"I grant, he is a little possessive at times, but I would really like it if you two liked each other. Or, at the very least, tolerated each other," Charles said.

There wasn't much Hank could say to that, so he tipped his head, silent acknowledgment of Charles' request. Charles was his oldest friend--his very first friend--and if Charles wanted him to like his new, terrifying boyfriend, then Hank could do that. That didn't mean he wasn't going to watch this Erik fellow closely. Charles still needed someone to watch his back, and Hank had been doing a pretty good job of it so far.

He didn't say any of that, though, opting instead to nod outside the doors and say, "Shuttle's here."


	14. Chapter 14

He was starting to attract the wrong kind of attention. Not that he wanted to draw any attention, but being dragged off by airport security on the suspicion of terrorism would probably have unpleasant, not to mention far-reaching consequences. They'd probably take one look at his German passport and deport him.

Erik tried to relax his shoulders; tried to look like he was just waiting for someone. He was fairly certain he was failing miserably, but at least the guard with the gun--the one who had been watching him for the last ten minutes--took his hand off his holster. Erik glanced up at the board, three flights leaving for Los Angeles within the next hour.

God, he was pathetic.

Then again, he was rather surprised he'd lasted this long. He'd gotten about halfway down W 165th Street before the urge to turn around had struck. He'd waited then, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, torn between continuing to the main campus and returning to Charles' side, telling Charles that he'd changed his mind and would accompany him to L.A. after all. It was while he was arguing with himself that Charles' shuttle had arrived. Erik watched, unobserved, as Charles and Hank--and Erik still didn't trust the man--disappeared inside the van. Even after the van had pulled away, Erik had remained in the middle of the sidewalk, feeling a bit like an idiot, unable to get his feet to move. It wasn't until the overcast sky finally fulfilled its promise of rain, freezing drizzle coming in sideways with the wind, that Erik decided he ought to leave.

He'd spent the better part of Friday moping.

Pining, Charles had called it, which had a slightly better ring to it, but it still amounted to the same thing; Erik curled on his couch, alone in his apartment, Raven at work and Charles clear on the other side of the country. He'd written a couple of new poems; had even gone so far as to [text one to Charles](http://www.nekosmuse.com/longing.html), Charles responding with a phone call that had lasted the better part of two hours.

It was nowhere near enough to dispel the ache in Erik's chest; or to ward-off a night of reoccurring nightmares.

Looking back, it was inevitable that he would end up slipping out of his apartment this morning, [a note for Raven](http://www.nekosmuse.com/lanote.jpg) tucked under her closed bedroom door, Erik spending a minor fortune cabbing to JFK just to stand inside the entrance to Departures and stare at the airline counters like they were capable of making this decision for him.

He wanted to go to L.A.; he wanted to see Charles and sleep next to Charles and not let Charles out of his sight, but at the same time, he was fairly certain stalking his boyfriend across the country was, well, insane.

Certainly it was mildly creepy.

Letting out a breath, Erik reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. The guard by the American Airlines counter tensed. Erik ignored him and searched his contact list for a number he knew he had, but had never once anticipated having to use. He pulled up Dr. Frost's emergency pager number and sent a page.

He barely had time to get his phone turned off before it rang, Erik startled and more than a little surprised. It was almost disappointing to glance at the display and see Raven's name staring back at him.

Erik winced and then answered.

"I know."

To say Raven was livid would have been an understatement, and in hindsight he probably shouldn't have left a note; shouldn't have left the apartment at all. He'd only woken, blurry and confused after his dream--that same damned dream that he only ever had when Charles wasn't around--and had thought only of seeing Charles; of getting to Charles as soon as possible.

"Tell me you are not on a plane," Raven said. Erik rolled his eyes, even though she couldn't see him.

"I'm at the airport, but no, I haven't bought a ticket."

Charles would probably be happy to see him--Charles was always happy to see him. Erik could almost picture it now, Charles flushed with surprise and pleasure, drawing Erik into a kiss, telling him much he'd missed him and how glad he was that Erik had come.

At least, that's how it went in Erik's head. The problem, of course, was that he couldn't guarantee it would go that way in reality, and even if it did eventually someone someday would tell Charles that that kind of behavior wasn't exactly acceptable and then Charles would be outraged and probably leave Erik because, clearly, Erik had issues.

"Erik, you are not going to follow Charles to Los Angeles. Mein Gott! Do you have any idea how insane that is?"

Erik was tempted to say that yes, yes he did, which is why he'd paged his psychiatrist. He was also tempted to cave to Raven's lecturing, because he'd known even before he'd paged Dr. Frost that he ought to climb back into a cab and go home. Cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder, Erik crossed the terminal to a row of seats set against towering glass walls, sitting with his back to the window, so that he could continue to watch the scrolling flight boards, while ignoring the line of yellow taxis behind him.

"I'm not going to go," he said. He almost thought he might mean it.

"Just come home, Erik," Raven said. There was something beyond pleading in her tone, and it took Erik several seconds to recognize it as fear. Guilt seized in his chest, Erik very carefully swallowing before he answered.

"I'm sorry, Raven. I didn't mean..." He wasn't sure what he didn't mean; to frighten her, to worry her, or to leave her. Probably all three. "I'll come home."

He heard her sigh of relief, Erik flashing back then to the last time he'd abandoned Raven for a weekend. He'd flown from Oxford to Zurich to see Shaw shortly after their break-up--if he could call it that--only to discover Shaw had already replaced him, the boy ridiculously young, ridiculously naïve; an exact replica of Erik before Shaw had so thoroughly broken him. He couldn't do that to Raven again.

"I'm coming home," he said again, because saying it out loud meant it stood a better chance of happening. It still took three minutes of reassurance before Raven let him off the phone, Erik pocketing his cell, glancing once to the flight board before turning towards the exit.

~*~

_Emma Interlude_

Emma smiled around a mouthful of egg-white omelet, watching her sister wave her fork as she articulated her point. They did this around this time every year; got together for breakfast in order to simultaneously plan both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Emma was still voting for a catered affair, or perhaps reservations somewhere out of the way, but Adrienne had always preferred a more traditional approach.

"I can hardly fit everyone in my condo," Emma said, "and you're in the middle of re-decorating."

Adrienne shook her head. "It's Cord's turn anyway," she said, though they both knew how well that would go over. Emma swallowed another bite of egg and then took a sip of her latte, intending to offer a compromise--an extended weekend at a chalet in Vermont, where they could have the tree, the roaring fire, and if they rented a place with a kitchenette, they could probably manage a meal--when her pager went off. Offering an apologetic smile--though Adrienne knew she was never really off the clock, not while still in New York, anyway--she retrieved it from her purse, frowning when she didn't recognize the number.

Her client list was not particularly large--several of her clients required intensive therapy, and that meant her availability was limited--so she recognized on sight the clients who had a tendency to page her. This number was new to her, and that it meant it was one of her clients who had yet to contact her outside of a session; always a dangerous thing, because she tended to hope her clients would be less inclined to emergencies as their therapy advanced, not more.

"I'm sorry, I'll have to take this," she said, excusing herself from the table. She left enough cash to pay for both their meals, though Adrienne would undoubtedly find some way to get it back to her, and sought somewhere private to return the page.

She found it in a quiet corner in the lobby of the adjacent hotel. They had a bank of complimentary phones set against a counter, Emma preferring not to use anything connected to her private lines. She crossed the black and white stripped marble floor of The Mark to reach them. Checking again to ensure she was alone, she dialed the number, and almost fainted when Erik Lehnsherr answered.

"Hello," he said, sounding confused, undoubtedly having not recognized the number.

"Erik, it's Dr. Frost," Emma said. Silence filled the line. "Erik, are you okay?" Emma pressed. She heard a steady release of breath.

"Sorry, it's fine. I'm fine. You didn't need to call," he said. Emma frowned. She had to tread carefully here. Erik's reticence tended to make him skittish; one wrong word and she could undo all the progress they had made.

"That's good to hear," she said. "But if you did want to talk about it, I am at the office."

It was in the wording, she'd discovered. If she'd told Erik she could arrange to meet him at her office, he wouldn't agree to come; but if she told she was already there, there was a better chance of him showing up. She could tell he was thinking about it, because the silence on the line stretched to this side of uncomfortable. It was worth it, though, when Erik finally answered, "Yeah, okay."

"Can you make it for 11:00?" Emma asked. Another thing she had learned; it was better to set a firm appointment. It also gave her time to go home and change, her casual breakfast attire not suited to seeing a patient.

"Okay, yeah, I can do that," Erik said, hanging up then, abrupt and so very Erik-like. Emma exhaled steadily, ran a tongue over her teeth--fuzzy with coffee aftertaste--and then headed for the exit. A change of clothes, a toothbrush, and she might be ready to focus on whatever it was that had Erik paging her on a Saturday morning.

By 10:30 Emma was seated behind her desk, door propped open, a stack of case-files spread out before her--though mostly to make it look like she was just catching up on paperwork. She was still dressed fairly casually--it was a Saturday after all--a pair of white chinos and a cashmere sweater set. She'd twisted her hair into a bun and was deciding whether to slip on a pair of reading glasses when someone knocked on her doorframe.

Emma glanced up, startled, because for as much as she was expecting Erik, she wasn't expecting him half an hour early. Whatever had happened; it was serious. Schooling her features, she offered a comforting smile, and gestured Erik inside.

"Please, have a seat," she said, remaining behind her desk, letting Erik decide where they would conduct this impromptu session.

Erik all but threw himself into his customary chair, looking as resolved as he did wary. Emma was expecting to have to prompt him, but to her surprise, he immediately began speaking.

"Forty minutes ago I was at the airport, contemplating boarding a plane for Los Angeles."

Emma tilted her head. She pushed aside the files she'd taken out, leaving the surface of her desk clear, polished by her sleeve.

"What's in Los Angeles?" she asked.

"Charles."

And ah, that made a good deal of sense. Emma waited, giving Erik the chance to elaborate. He didn't disappoint.

"He's there for a conference. He left yesterday morning, and won't be back until Sunday, and I should be able to go three days without seeing him, but this morning I woke up and took a cab to the airport, intending to go after him."

It took every ounce of effort she had not to smile at that statement. Not because it was funny, or even a good idea, but because it was a measure of how much Erik had improved. He was started to put pieces together; starting to recognize the things that he did and the things that he felt as part of the bigger whole. But more than that, he was starting to self-police his instincts, calling her rather than simply acting on impulse.

"Can I ask why you changed your mind?" she prompted.

Erik, who had been coiled with tension from the moment he appeared outside her door, relaxed somewhat. He set his hands in his lap, only then seeming to realize that he was still wearing his coat. He paused before answering to shrug it off, setting it over the back of his chair before reclaiming his seat. This time when he glanced across the desk, he caught her eye, his expression brittle.

"Raven called," he said. "I'd left her a note, and she sounded upset, so I couldn't just leave her."

What Emma wouldn't give for Erik to agree to a joint session with his sister--she'd offered once, but Erik had refused, mostly on the grounds that he thought it would make Raven uncomfortable. Still, Emma thought it would be good for both of them; they had so many issues between them.

Raven was undoubtedly contributing to Erik's anxiety where Charles was concerned. Next to Charles, there was no one else Erik talked about more, and most of their discussions seemed centered around Raven's sudden independence, Erik not entirely ready to relinquish his role as provider and protector.

"Was this before or after you paged me?" Emma asked, because it made a difference.

Erik frowned, as though considering the question. "After," he said, but offered nothing further, so Emma pressed on.

"Why did you page me?"

Erik looked marginally offended by the question, and for a moment Emma worried that she'd overplayed her hand. He shifted in his chair, hands gripping the arm rails, cuticles bloodied from where he'd been picking at them--and that was something new, something he hadn't done in the first few months he'd been seeing her.

He cleared his throat. "I'm a little possessive around him. Jealous, too, and I don't want to be one of those guys. He deserves better than that."

She'd gotten pretty good at reading Erik, so she recognized what the admission had cost him; shame and embarrassment warring for a place in his expression. He schooled them both, settling on resigned. Emma sat back in her chair; casual and non-threatening. It had the added benefit of putting some space between them--penning Erik in was never a good idea.

"You may not believe this, Erik, but this is actually good progress. You're starting to identify things you want to work on, and that's a sign that you're starting to heal. Paging me instead of getting on a plane was a remarkable step, and you should be proud of yourself."

It was clear from Erik's reaction--brow furrowing, gaze narrowing--that he didn't believe her. Emma let her gaze remain level and detached, Erik eventually accepting her words for what they were. The last of his tension visibly drained.

"I'm going to make a suggestion," Emma said, and she was taking a chance here, but sometimes breakthroughs required gambles. "I'd like you to consider bringing Charles to one of our sessions." It wasn't entirely altruistic, because while it would be good for Erik--Charles, too, she imagined--having Charles sit in in one of Erik's sessions would also allow her the opportunity to get a better read on just what kind of a man Charles Xavier was. She knew it wasn't professional, but Emma had never been able to avoid getting attached to her patients. She was a little protective of Erik, and while she would never show that externally, that didn't mean she didn't care about what happened to him.

She expected Erik to refuse, but to her surprise, he merely nodded and said, "I can ask him." It was entirely possible getting him to agree to the idea of couples' therapy might be easier than she had anticipated. Still, it was something to bring up another day. For now they had a myriad of issues to discuss, and she was hoping--provided Erik was ready--he might be willing to discuss his parents. She had no doubt their premature deaths factored heavily into Erik's possessive tendencies. They had, through no fault of their own, essentially abandoned him. It would have surprised her completely if he didn't cling to the few things he had in his life.

~*~

Charles hated hotels.

He hated the too-firm beds, and the bleach-scented linen. He hated the tiny shampoos in the pristinely clean bathroom. He hated how impossible it was to remove a hanger from the tiny, almost useless closet.

Mostly he hated the complimentary breakfasts.

Hank ate his with enthusiasm, spearing too-dry scrambled eggs while chewing over-toasted toast. He practically vibrated with excitement. One would think this was his first conference.

"I'm particularly looking forward to attending Dr. Essex' workshop on Molecular cytogenetic techniques and their application in clinical diagnosis," Hank was saying, talking around a mouthful of food. Charles couldn't help but wince, hating then his childhood conditioning, the sharp smack to the back of the head he got whenever he showed improper table manners.

The memory might have been less painful, had his mother cared enough to dole out the punishment herself. Instead she'd instructed servants and tutors to monitor Charles' table manners in her absence. Only Mrs. Forrester had been kind; ruffling Charles hair and telling him softly to chew with his mouth closed.

"I'm actually glad we're not presenting until tomorrow," Hank continued. "There are so many panels I want to attend today."

Hank at a genetics conference was like a kid at Christmas. Charles smiled, somewhat fondly, and went back to his bagel. He very carefully chewed and swallowed before speaking.

"Do you want to attend the dinner tonight?" Charles asked. They'd attended the welcome reception last night--though Charles had spent the better part of it hid away in a corner, texting with and talking to Erik. The first thing he'd done upon waking this morning was to retrieve Erik's first text, the poem he'd written enough to set Charles' heart aflutter, even as Erik's words had filled him with longing. He brought his hand to his hip, letting his fingers touch against his iPhone, tucked in his pocket. What he wouldn't give for Erik to show up then; to sweep into the room and pull Charles into his arms and...

"Of course," Hank answered, distracting Charles from the thought. His eyes were bright and eager, like he fully intended to cram as much shop talk into their weekend as was humanly possible. Charles loved what he did--loved the work, the people and the possibilities--but Hank took that passion to a whole new level.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Charles nodded, only half listening to Hank's plans for workshops and panels. Charles had his own list of things he planned on attending, but part of him still wanted to go home--to crawl into bed with Erik and not come out until springtime. L.A.'s marginally warm weather--compared to New York, at least--was making him miss summer. Oh, God, there was a distinct possibility Erik would [start wearing short sleeved shirts](http://www.nekosmuse.com/tshirt.jpg) once the weather turned.

Across the table, Hank stood, drawing Charles from the fantasy, Charles shaking his head to displace the lust-fueled fog that had taken over his brain. How the hell was he supposed to last another two days without seeing those arms?

"Are you attending the first plenary session?" he asked. Charles nodded, pushing aside his unfinished breakfast to stand and follow Hank from the room. Hank took Charles' presence as permission to ramble non-stop, touching on Dr. Essex's work, and Dr. Roseau's theories on evolutionary mutation. Charles listened, absorbing everything Hank said, while simultaneously wondering when these conferences stopped being an opportunity to socialize with the people in his field; started becoming a necessary obligation to further his career. Probably, he realized, about the time he stopped having any interest in sleeping with his fellow colleagues. This would mark the first conference Charles had attended where getting laid wasn't as important a goal as securing future funding.

~*~

_Raven Interlude_

Raven paced the tiny space between the couch and the coffee table. Erik had told her he was coming home, and then had promptly texted her and told her he had to stop somewhere first, that he would be a few hours. As soon as he got back she was going to smack him upside the head. Ridiculous, love-blind idiot! Not that she begrudged him Charles, or their relationship--she was thrilled, she really was--but he was doing the same thing he'd done with Shaw; obsessing in a way that she knew from observation tended to frighten people away. He was going to scare Charles off and then be miserable, because Raven was fairly certain Erik wasn't going to risk falling in love a third time, which meant if he screwed things up with Charles he was going to spend the rest of his life alone, moping.

"Dummkopf," she muttered under her breath, realizing then that she was probably being unfair. It wasn't like Erik had much experience in this department, so she couldn't really blame him for being bad at it. Hell, it wasn't even like she could talk; she had less experience than him, and not a day went by when she didn't wonder what the hell Azazel was doing still waiting on her.

She'd let him kiss her goodnight last night, after he'd dropped her off after work. It was a closed mouth kiss, but one that lingered, and after Raven had locked herself in her room and spent hours staring up at her ceiling, touching her lips, and then herself, awkward and uncertain and more than a little confused. It was no wonder she had slept through Erik's leaving; had she woken, she might have been able to stop him before he'd wasted an entire morning travelling to the airport.

She really hoped he was coming home. She wasn't sure what she'd do if he called again to say that he'd hoped on a plane after all.

As if to answer the unasked question, a set of keys jingled in the lock, Raven turning abruptly towards the door, bringing a hand to her hip as she waited for Erik to let himself in. He caught sight of her almost immediately, guilt and apology flashing in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he said, stepping inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. He had nothing with him--no bags, no satchel--which meant he hadn't really thought over his decision to go to Los Angeles. Raven arched an eyebrow.

"We you really going to go after him with only the clothes on your back?" she asked.

Erik's eyes grew wide, and he glanced down at himself, seeming to register then what she meant. His expression turned sheepish.

"I didn't really think about that," he said.

He abandoned his shoes and coat by the door before coming into the living room, making for the couch. Raven sat down gingerly on her side. Erik hesitated briefly before joining her, leaving a cushion between them, but he glanced over and caught her eye, asking silent permission to touch her, which Raven granted with a brief nod of her head. It still surprised her when he shifted onto his side, laying his head in her lap. Raven brought a tentative hand to his hair and brushed several hairs from his forehead.

"I stopped by Dr. Frost's on the way home," he said, which was perhaps even more surprising, but good; very good. After years of railing against seeing a shrink, it was nice to see Erik finally bonding with one.

"He's going to come home, you know," Raven said. Erik's eyes fell closed. He exhaled, body growing lax against her. There were deep circles beneath his eyes, and lines across his forehead that Raven couldn't remember ever seeing. Sometimes when she looked at him she still saw that bright-eyed kid; the one with too big teeth and gangly, awkward limbs. He'd seem so old and mature to her then, the only person who ever took care of her, carrying her away in the dead of the night to safety. Looking at him now, it was startling to find he was getting old. She gave him another five years before hints of grey started appearing at his temples.

Erik hadn't said anything--hadn't responded to her comment--and when Raven checked, she was startled to find he had fallen asleep. It was creeping into early afternoon, and she wasn't due at work until tonight, so she closed her eyes, letting her head tip back against the couch, Erik quite possibly the only person in the world she trusted enough to fall asleep next to.

She hoped, one day, that list would include Azazel--and maybe even Charles--but for now she let herself drift, muttering _Dummkopf_ once again for good measure, her heart filled with equal parts exasperation and affection.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Attempted non-con.
> 
> Many thanks to Etirabys for the lovely art in this chapter. Link goes to her tumblr. Please share your thanks.

  


_time separates  
holds us  
distant_

_far away_

_in distance,  
though,  
shared space_

_voices linger  
laughs echo_

_hours  
together  
emboldened  
by admissions._

_Declarations:  
of trust,  
of want._

_[sleep seems  
foreign  
when your voice  
draws me in.](http://etirabys.tumblr.com/post/17369891196/fanart-for-loves-own-crown-kind-of-rushed)_

[Sleepless, by Erik Lehnsherr, November, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/524165)

~*~  


"We have high hopes to start clinical trials this summer," Charles was saying, and though he'd vowed not to discuss his and Hank's latest research, it was near impossible not to get swept up in the excitement, especially when people were just so very interested in his work. It was somewhat exhilarating having people hanging on his every word, asking all the right questions--and Charles was very good at ignoring the probing ones that suggested someone might be out to steal his research.

He'd already abandoned Hank, Hank caught up in a conversation about genomic medicine. Charles had always preferred a micro approach to genetics, so the topic hadn't particularly interested him. He'd let himself get swept away by the crowd, dinner still heavy in his stomach as he sipped cocktails and shared his and Hank's preliminary findings. It was a shame his enthusiasm didn't last as long as the night.

Any other year, he would have been thrilled beyond measure. This year he was desperately bored halfway through his second circuit of the room, wanting then only to return to his hotel room.

The current group he was talking to kept shifting, people coming and going, the conversation running in circles, Charles constantly having to start at the beginning. He waited for the next changeover--the next lull--to excuse himself, seeking a quiet corner where he could call Erik.

They'd spoken once already tonight, just before Charles went to dinner, but Erik was three hours ahead and if Charles wanted to catch him before he went to bed, it would have to be now. He found a little out of the way alcove near the back of the banquet hall and tucked himself between two pillars, set kitty-corner from the emergency exit. He'd gotten halfway through dialing when he was again interrupted, this time by Dr. Essex, who slipped into Charles' alcove wearing a thoroughly delighted smile.

Having attended Essex's workshop with Hank, it would have been rude to send Essex away--though Charles rather thought Essex's work was a little farfetched--so he pocketed his phone, smiled brightly, took a sip from his neat scotch, and tried to appear at least a little approachable.

Essex had a bit of a reputation for being somewhat of a megalomaniac, something that became quite apparent as soon as he started talking. He droned on about his work; the advances he was making and the awards he intended to win. "I'm fairly certain my work is worth at least a Noble," he said at one point. Charles nodded politely, humming in all the right places, like he was listening intently, all while frantically casting about for an escape. It came ten minutes into their conversation, Essex saying something that caused Charles to snort--somewhat undignified, but he couldn't help it. Essex immediately fell silently. Charles couldn't quite help himself.

"Are you seriously trying to suggest you think you have found the immortality gene?" Charles asked. He wasn't usually so rude, but getting through tonight's dinner had required several glasses of wine, and since then he'd had two cocktails and his scotch. If there was one thing these conferences did well, it was stock the bar.

"You laugh, but I know you've read the research, and our work with mice has been quite promising. Wouldn't you want that?" Essex asked, stepping forward, into Charles' space like he intended to impart some great secret. "To live forever?"

Charles scoffed. "Dear God, no. The only reason life has meaning is because it has a definitive end. I wouldn't want to lose that for anything."

Essex's expression showed his disappointment, like he had honestly never met anyone who didn't want immortality. He cocked his head.

"But what if you could tweak it? Say add ten years, twenty; fifty to your life? Wouldn't that be worth exploring?"

Charles shook his head. Essex was hardly the only person working on such research--and Charles had read up on the subject--but it seemed to him the consequences outweighed any potential benefit. He was about to say as much when Essex's grad student--the one from his workshop--arrived, bearing two flutes of champagne. Charles sagged a little with relief, intending to use the opportunity to slip away and call Erik, but too late Essex caught his eye, swiftly plucking Charles' empty tumbler from his hands, replacing it with the champagne flute. Charles blinked.

"You looked thirsty," he said, mouth turning up into something that wanted to resemble a smile. Oh, Charles realized. He wasn't usually this slow on the uptake. Clearly Erik had broken his gaydar.

He meant to set the record straight, right then and there, but Essex had started talking again, attempting to regale Charles with anecdotes about life in a Max Planck lab, his grad student having already disappeared, and try as Charles might he couldn't find a break in the conversation. He stood, feeling a little like fleeing, listening to Essex's lecture with a growing sense of horror, until, finally, Essex brought his champagne glass to his lips, falling silent as he took a sip.

Charles took his opportunity.

"Dr. Essex," Charles said, intending to let the man down gently--not that it was his fault, Charles did have a bit of a reputation at this things--but before he could Essex was sweeping toward him, suddenly far closer than Charles wanted him to be.

"Nathaniel, please; call me Nathaniel," Essex said. Charles took a step back.

"I'm sorry. I really am," Charles said before Essex could get started again. "But I'm not interested." He hesitated only briefly before handing Essex back his champagne flute, untouched. The look of puzzled outrage on Essex's face was almost too much to bear. Charles fled, thinking then that he ought to ask Erik for a ring; anything to keep men like Nathaniel Essex at bay.

He wanted to call Erik right away, but instead he went in search of Hank, finding him right where he'd left him, still lost in the same conversation, Hank extra animated under the influence of a few gin and tonics. He was gesturing wildly, making his point with excited exclamations. Charles almost hated to interrupt him, but he couldn't just leave without letting Hank know, so he sidled up to him, laying a hand on his forearm to get his attention. Across the room, Essex was still watching him, frown painted across his face.

"Sorry to interrupt," Charles said. Hank glanced over, startled. "It's been a long day, so I was going to retire. I wanted to say goodnight."

The last was said to the entire group, Charles only recognizing a handful of the people Hank was talking to, but they all nodded.

"We should meet early tomorrow, go over the presentation," Hank said in lieu of goodbye. Charles nodded, and then left him to his socializing--Hank got so few opportunities.

It was a strange relief to finally slip from the hotel's rented banquet hall, the silence on the other side of the door a balm for his nerves. He thought about calling Erik, but in the time Essex had held him captive, the hour had grown late, so he opted for [sending a text instead](http://www.nekosmuse.com/missyou.jpg). If Erik was still awake, he'd call, otherwise Charles would call first thing in the morning, and then after tomorrow, it would be all over, Charles on a plane heading back to New York and Erik and home.

The thought of going home to Erik put a smile on his face, one that lingered as he navigated the hotel lobby, eventually ending up in an elevator bound for the eighth floor. He still missed Erik completely, but he felt a little lighter knowing the weekend was coming to an end. The next time he did this he was taking Erik and Raven both; no objections.

The elevator came to a stop when he reached his floor, bouncing slightly in that way that always turned Charles' stomach. Its metal doors slid open, Charles stepping out onto paisley carpet only to run head-first into a solid mass. Charles staggered back, not entirely certain what had happened. He glanced up, somewhat startled when he found himself staring into the pasty visage of Nathaniel Essex. Charles blinked.

It was entirely possible they simply shared the same floor, but there was something in Essex's smile, something sinister, that told Charles that wasn't the case. How Essex had discovered Charles' room number, or even beat him upstairs, Charles didn't know, but he wanted then to get as far from this man as humanly possible. Charles took a step back.

"Maybe I didn't make this clear downstairs," Charles said, "but I'm not interested. I'm seeing someone."

The elevator doors had closed behind him, the hall stretching in either direction; long tunnels, identically matched, their walls painted hotel-beige, their floors an endless sea of burgundy and blue. It all seemed so utterly deserted. Essex made no move to get out of Charles way, and when Charles tried to step around him, Essex moved with him, blocking Charles' path. Something ugly settled in the pit of Charles' stomach. His hand began to shake.

"Get out of my way," Charles said. It surprised him how oddly cold and detached he sounded.

Essex took a step towards him, Charles retreating back towards the elevator. "You're not being very friendly," Essex said. "From the rumours I'd heard, you'd fuck anyone and everyone, significant other or no significant other."

In an instant Charles went from frightened to incensed, because Essex didn't know him, and while, yes, Charles had certainly sowed his wild oats--and he would never apologize to anyone for that, let alone be made to feel shame for it--he had never, and would never, cheat on someone.

"I'm afraid I'm a little more selective these days," Charles said, letting his distaste for Essex show in the twist of his lips.

To his surprise, Essex laughed.

The man was larger than Charles, though not by much, and while Charles wasn't one for violence, it wasn't Essex physically overwhelming him that worried Charles--he was more than capable of taking care of himself. There was something in the way Essex was watching him, as though waiting for something, that set Charles on edge. Not willing to let Essex intimidate him, Charles squared his shoulders.

"I'm not going to ask you again. Get out of my way," Charles said.

Essex's smile was far too amused. He stepped forward again, crowding Charles against the elevator, Charles about to bring his hands to Essex's chest to shove him away when his phone rang.

It should have frightened Essex off, but instead his smile grew wider. He reached out, catching Charles' wrist before Charles could retrieve his phone. The act was so shocking Charles momentarily froze, not entirely certain what to do. Essex's grip was firm, bone crushing, and would undoubtedly leave a ring of dark, finger-shaped brushes. In the time it took him to get his wits together enough to shake Essex off, his phone stopped ringing.

"Do not touch me," Charles said, shoving then, but Essex only retreated a step, still looming, looking entirely too smug for the situation. Charles was starting to think he might have to resort to desperate measures.

"How was your champagne?" Essex asked then, tilting his head.

Charles narrowed his gaze, momentarily confused until he made the connection. The son of the bitch had drugged the champagne, probably as soon as his grad student had handed it to him--there was no way Charles would believe she had known anything about it--and now he was simply waiting for Charles to succumb to its effect.

Had he really not noticed that Charles hadn't touched a single drop?

Letting his mouth twist into his own ugly smile, Charles stepped forward, this time forcing Essex back. For the first time that night, Essex faltered, uncertainty colouring his expression.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I don't drink champagne," Charles said, and then, because the kind of guy Essex was had always-- _always_ \--enraged Charles, he did something so out of character that, later, after he'd had a chance to calm down and stop hyperventilating, he'd look back on it with wonder and something akin to awe.

He stepped completely into Essex's space, hauled back, and [head-butted the man right between the eyes](http://www.nekosmuse.com/headbutt.gif).

Contrary to everything he had seen on television, head-butting someone hurt--considerably--Charles more than a little dazed as he stepped back, head throbbing, thoughts fuzzy, stars dancing across his vision.

That was nothing compared to Essex, who was on the ground, clutching his nose--Charles' aim must have been a little off--blood dripping onto his upper lip even as tears formed in his eyes. He looked so utterly terrified that Charles couldn't help the vicious thrill that tore through him. How many people had Essex done this to, he wondered. How many people had woken up, memories blank, and just assumed they’d had too much to drink the night before? Would Charles have even known? Would he have thought to question? The thought filled him with rage, but instead of kicking Essex--and he wanted to, oh how he wanted to--he squared his shoulders and stepped back. Ignoring the way his vision still crossed, he turned on his heel and fled down the hall to his room.

It wasn't until he was inside, door bolted behind him, latch pulled across the top, that Charles fully registered what he'd done--what had almost happened. He glanced down at his hands to find them shaking again, breath coming in shallow pants as he slid down the door until he was sat, knees drawn to his chest, heart racing and body trembling.

From inside his front right pocket, his phone started ringing again. Charles almost sobbed with relief.

~*~

Erik glanced at his Blackberry and frowned. It wasn't like Charles not to answer, especially considering he'd just texted; just asked Erik to call him if he was still awake--and of course Erik was still awake. He was hardly going to fall asleep, not when he was waiting for Charles' call.

It was entirely possible Charles was simply indisposed, or perhaps in the middle of a conversation, or maybe sitting in an elevator with no signal. Erik disconnected the call without leaving a message and set his Blackberry on the coffee table. He'd try again in a few minutes.

 _One more night_ , he told himself, which was ridiculous; because it wasn't like he hadn't spent the night apart from Charles before. Dr. Frost had reminded him as much; had told him it was normal--healthy even--to miss Charles, to want him home, but that spending a few days apart was not going to hurt either of them. He hadn't particularly liked hearing the advice, but she was right.

Even Raven had said as much, after Erik had woken from his unplanned nap, still sprawled across her lap--and God, how he'd apologized, horrified by what he'd done, even with her reassurances that it was fine. _It's hardly the first time we've fallen asleep together_ , she'd said, alluding the nightmares that used to see her curled on the couch, Erik often falling asleep on the floor beside her feet. _This is different_ , he'd told her, but she'd only shaken her head and asked what he intended to make them for dinner.

They'd talked then, while Erik had cooked, and then they'd talked some more as they ate, Erik recounting his session, Raven agreeing whole-heartedly with his psychiatrist. She was gone now; Azazel having picked her up for work, and it was unlikely she'd make it home before he fell asleep. Erik glanced into the kitchen at the clock on the microwave, green numbers fuzzy from this distance, but he could still read them. His two minutes had passed. Erik reached for his Blackberry.

This time Charles answered after two rings, but Erik's relief was tempered by the knowledge that something was wrong. There was something in Charles' tone, shaky and terrified, that had Erik sitting bolt upright on the couch. He went so far as to shift to the edge of the cushion, the desire for action leaving him rigid and tense.

"What happened?" he asked, desperate then to see Charles--and he should have gone; he should have gotten on that damned plane and gone to L.A., no matter what Dr. Frost said. "Charles, what happened?"

Charles let out a shaky little laugh, the sound crawling across Erik's skin, making the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. His stomach rolled with nausea. If Charles was hurt, he would never forgive himself.

"It's nothing, I'm fine," Charles said, and then again, "I'm fine."

"Charles." He was desperate now, he knew, Charles sounding so utterly shaken, so utterly alone; and Erik was so far away, incapable of doing anything to protect him, to keep him safe.

Through the line, Charles released a strangled breath. It sounded unnaturally loud in the otherwise stillness of the room; the only thing louder was the blood pounding in his ears, incessant droning he was surprised Charles couldn't hear.

"I need you not to freak out," Charles said, which didn't exactly help the pounding of his heart. It was as good as telling Erik to freak out, Erik standing, already halfway to the door before better sense got a hold of him. It would take him hours to get to Charles, and Charles needed him here, now.

"Okay," he sound, though he very much doubted either of them believed the promise.

"A man tried to drug me at dinner tonight."

Erik almost dropped the phone. Rage whited his vision, the hand not cradling his Blackberry clenching in a fist. He could feel the tendons standing out along either side of his neck; feel the angry flush that stained his cheeks.

He sounded entirely too cold when he asked, "What?"

"Calm down," Charles said. "I'm fine. He slipped something into a glass of champagne and then handed it to me, but I didn't drink it. He thought I had and accosted me in the hall."

If Erik had been angry before, it was nothing compared to how he felt hearing the calm certainty in Charles' voice, like he was simply recounting the weather or commenting on what he'd had for dinner. Erik's vision shifted to red. He had his coat in hand before he realized flying to Los Angeles and killing a man wasn't really an option.

"Have you called the police?" he asked, because that was what you were supposed to do.

He expected Charles to say he had. Instead, Charles let out a little laugh, sounding more than a little hysterical. When he spoke, however, the same steady determination carried through his words.

"Small problem with that," he said. Erik frowned, realizing then he was still standing in the hall, hand stretched towards the front door. "I don't actually have any proof, and I technically assaulted him."

Erik blinked, hand falling to his side. He stood, dumbfounded, not entirely certain he'd heard what he thought he'd just heard.

"You assaulted him?"

"Head-butted him, actually, and I think in doing so I might have broken his nose. It's entirely possible the police are already en route to arrest me."

Erik was moving again before Charles had finished speaking. He was into his coat and shoes and out the door before the _me_ left Charles' lips, Erik practically running down the hall to the elevator, repeatedly hitting its button in a bid to get it here faster. He was debating using the stairs when it arrived.

"I'm on my way," he said.

"Erik, don't be ridiculous," Charles said, which stopped Erik entirely, poised half in the hall, half in the elevator, body keeping the door from closing.

"Charles," he tried, but Charles would not be put off. He spoke right over Erik's objection.

"First, you're not going to get a flight out at this hour."

Erik had thought of that; had considered the possibility of chartering a plane, or maybe just stealing one--they couldn't be that hard to fly, could they?--but Charles wasn't finished.

"Second, even if you could get a flight, it'll take you hours to get here, and by that time I hope to be sound asleep, either here, in my room, or in a holding cell, though I honestly don't think Essex would risk his reputation by pressing charges, especially given the allegations that would come out. I assure you I frightened the wits out of him, so I suspect he's already left the conference."

What Charles was saying made a good deal of sense, but Erik was too busy focusing on Essex, the name branded into his consciousness--alongside Shaw--as someone who shouldn't be allowed to live.

It was a mark of Charles' influence on him that he didn't get on the elevator, instead stepping back, letting the door close as he turned back towards his apartment, walking slowly this time, feet dragging as the last few minutes finally caught up with him. It occurred to him then that his reaction was probably not what Charles needed. He was probably shaken and frightened and in need of comfort, and yet instead he'd had to talk Erik down from doing something incredibly stupid. Guilt and shame flooded him as he slunk back into his apartment.

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't even ask; are you okay?" he said once he was safely behind the door. He leaned against it, eyes falling closed as his head tipped back to rest against the wood.

"I told you, I'm fine, he didn't..." Charles got out before Erik was interrupting him.

"No, are you okay?" he asked again. This time Charles let out another desperate little laugh.

"Well, I'm sitting on the floor of my hotel room, with my back to the door, and shaking somewhat uncontrollably, so maybe not entirely fine, no."

Erik appreciated his honesty, even if it hurt to hear. It took every ounce of his willpower to open his eyes, walk into the living room and sink onto the couch. He could do this, he told himself; he could talk Charles through this, because as much as he wanted to be there--to sweep Charles into his arms and reassure himself that Charles was safe, Charles needed him now.

"I can't believe you head-butted him," Erik said, feeling a little hysterical himself. He thought back to the last time he'd seen Shaw; to the way Shaw's head had twisted against Erik's first, to the sickening crunch of impact. He wondered if Charles had felt half of his delight. It didn't seem appropriate to ask.

"Neither can I," Charles was saying. He laughed then, sounding a little more like himself. "It hurt, actually."

Erik barked a rather helpless sounding laugh. "Yeah, I can imagine." Punching Shaw had hurt too. "Worth it, though."

Through the line, he heard the rustle of fabric against fabric--Charles standing he realized.

"You know, it really was," Charles said. "You should have seen his face. I think he was honestly shocked someone would think to fight back." He paused then, the silence between them growing heavy. "God, to think he might have done this with other..." Charles trailed off, as though unable to even contemplate such a thing.

Erik understood the sentiment. Every time a therapist told him to file a complaint against Shaw--every time he refused--he felt a stab of guilt knowing Shaw would probably do it to others; that Shaw had probably done it to countless others before him.

"Is there a board or organization you can file a complaint with?" Erik asked. This wasn't the time for him to get emotional; or for him to get bogged down in his own history. Charles needed him to be objective.

"Yes, yes, I suppose I should do that," Charles said against the sound of more rustling. Erik sat, very still, letting Charles get settled. "I know it's probably not healthy, but can we talk about something else? For the time being I'd rather like to forget the whole thing entirely."

Erik wasn't sure that was such a good idea, but he didn't think it his place to say as much. Instead he said, "Of course," because there was nothing he wouldn't do for Charles, and if he couldn't be there, at least he could be here.

He thought he heard Charles' smile, though he suspected it was only his imagination.

"Tell me what you did today," Charles prompted, sounding far less shaky--far happier--than he had when he'd first called. Erik flashed briefly to this morning; to waiting at the airport and then his session with Dr. Frost. It didn't seem the sort of thing he ought to tell Charles.

"I pined for you, actually," he said, which wasn't exactly a lie. Through the line, Charles laughed, low and musical and God, how Erik ached for him. The thought of anyone hurting Charles...

He cast that thought aside before it could grow wings.

"Funny, I pined for you, too," Charles answered, and then, to Erik's complete surprise, added, "What are you wearing?"

If Raven were to come home right now, she would find him on the couch, slack-jawed, looking positively gobsmacked. It took several minutes for Erik to respond, during which he worked on his best fish impression.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked when he was able, because after everything that had happened, Charles wanted to...

"Not in the least," Charles said, and then, because someone up there either really liked Erik or really hated him, added, "I have just taken off my jacket and am slowly working on the buttons of my shirt. In about two minutes I will be without pants, as well."

Erik shifted, feeling more than a little uncomfortable even as sparks of pleasure coiled in his gut, dick growing heavy as he thought of Charles striping for him.

"Charles," he said, a warning, because he wasn't entire certain they should be doing this; wasn't entirely certain Charles should be doing this.

For the longest second Charles didn't say anything, breath coming in ragged pants. Erik glance again to the door, wanting more than anything to be able to step through it; to get in a cab and arrive outside Charles' hotel door in the space of a breath. It seemed in that moment his life was a series of impossible wants; Erik forever doomed to fate's disdain. When Charles finally spoke, it was an arrow to his heart.

"Please," he choked, so low and desperate Erik's breath caught in his throat.

His earlier interest had vanished, but this wasn't about Erik anymore.

"Okay," he said, and then, "lay back on the bed."

Charles made a sound that was half sob, half laughter. He sounded utterly grateful. Erik's discomfort took shape; settled in the pit of his stomach until he thought he might be sick for it. Instead, he walked Charles through removing his clothes.

"Each button, Charles, slowly," he said.

Charles' breath sped up, the rustling of fabric almost drowned out by his exhales. "Okay," he breathed when he had finished, Erik letting a rush of air escape through his nose before he continued.

"Leave the shirt on, but unbuttoned, and unfasten your pants; just the button and zipper."

It was, perhaps, not what Charles wanted, but if Erik was in his position--and he had been, Shaw fond of calling Erik and asking him to do the most ridiculous things, all while narrating, much to Shaw's amusement--he would have wanted a cloak of security, however imagined.

"Okay," Charles said. He sounded so impossibly far away in that moment; so impossible small, too. Erik's heart clenched.

"Charles..." he tried again, but Charles breathed that same broken _Please_ and who was he to resist?

"Reach inside and touch yourself, overtop of your boxers." He waited a beat. "Are you hard?" he asked.

Some distant part of him hoped Charles would say yes--and he didn't want to look at that part too hard--but most of him wanted Charles to say no. When Charles didn't say anything, Erik tipped his head back onto the sofa to stare unblinking at the ceiling. He didn't want to do this anymore. He wasn't sure he could.

So he stopped.

"I wish I was there, you know," he said instead. "I wish I'd come with you; that I was there right now, curled up beside you in bed, my hand in place of yours, touching you, watching the way your eyes glaze over. I don't know if you've ever seen it, but you're so beautiful like that."

It was impossible not to imagine, [Charles stretched out in a hotel room bed](http://www.nekosmuse.com/inbed.jpg), hair dishevelled, pants open, looking at Erik with those big, blue, trusting eyes. He always looked at Erik like he was the most important person in the room; the most important person on the planet. He had from the moment they met, there in Erik's classroom, Charles staring at him like he was heaven-sent. Was it any wonder Erik had fallen so hard, so fast?

"I wish I could feel the way your chest rises and falls, your breath catching every time I press a kiss to your shoulder, your collarbone, your neck. God, Charles I'm so bad at this, but I want..."

And how to explain everything he wanted. An eternity wouldn't come close to covering it.

"I want to bury my nose in the space behind your ear; I want to inhale your scent until it's forever imprinted in my mind. I want to feel the way you shudder beneath me whenever I trace your ribs with my fingertips.

"I want to write words on every inch of your skin. My name, I want to write my name in permanent marker, so that it never comes off. I want to paint you with my tongue and I want to slide inside you until we're sharing one breath, one heartbeat. God, Charles; why was this so hard?"

He hadn't registered saying the last part out loud, not until it was already past his lips, Erik colouring then, heat staining his cheeks, but he didn't take it back. He ran a hand through his hair, and was about to apologize, when Charles spoke.

"Yes," he said, oddly breathless.

"What?" Erik asked, not quite following.

Charles didn't hesitate in responding. "Yes, I'm hard," he said.

Erik's eyes grew wide. The image of Charles nestled between pillows on a king sized bed, cream coloured linen pristine beneath him shifted. He was no longer coy and smiling, watching Erik with a mischievous glint in his eye. Instead he was wanton, stretched out, hand inside his pants, jerking frantically while Erik confessed his undying love.

Erik might have been offended, where the idea not so entirely comical. He laughed, Charles groaning at the sound, like Erik's laughter was better than a thousand whispered promises.

"How close are you?" Erik asked, because if the sound of Charles' breathing was any indication, it was very.

Instead of answering, Charles asked, "Can I put my hand inside my boxers?"

It took Erik several seconds to work out why he hadn't already-- _You didn't tell him to_ , floated across his mind--but once he did he laughed a second time and said, "Of course." Charles whimpered.

"In answer," Charles said, breathless and broken, "to your earlier question," he groaned, "I'm very, very close."

Erik smiled, even as he leaned forward, no longer uncomfortable; no longer awkward. He was perfectly at ease when he said, "You know if I was there, I would have already taken you into my mouth."

There were a dozen other things he would have done by now, but that seemed to satisfy Charles, because he let out another broken moan, _Erik_ falling from his lips like an entreaty to God. Erik chuckled, listening intently to Charles' orgasm.

He still had no interest in following Charles--though he suspected that would change if he tried to picture Charles now, something he rather wanted to avoid, so he kept his mind blank, waiting for Charles' breathing to settle, and then for Charles to gather his wits enough to say, "Well," like he'd just had a particularly profound epiphany.

"Well," Erik echoed.

Charles let out a little laugh. "That was rather screwed up."

Erik couldn't help but agree. "Join the club," he said, because it seemed rather fitting.

This time, when Charles laughed, it was a genuine, full-belly laugh that carried warmth with it through the line. Erik still wanted to get on a plane and fly to L.A.--and he still wanted to hunt down this Essex guy and kill him--but he no longer felt like he was falling apart; and he was no longer as worried about Charles.

"Did you even..." Charles started to ask, though he still sounded more amused than he did guilty.

"No, but the night's still young," Erik said, standing from the couch, stretching slightly before carrying Charles down the hall and into the bedroom. The night was nowhere near young, and Charles knew it, but Erik still added, "Tell me what you did today," and after a moment's hesitation, Charles did.


	16. Chapter 16

_wait_

_wait_

_rush  
forward momentum_

_moving towards  
moving with_

_syncopated_

_synchronized_

_together_

_words lost  
voices carry_

_emotions spill_

[Anticipation, by Erik Lehnsherr, November, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/529085)

~*~

"This really isn't necessary, you know," Erik said, but Raven was wearing her resolve face, so he knew there was no arguing with her. He pulled his jacket--the leather one from his [riding days](http://www.nekosmuse.com/bike.jpg)\--a little tighter and glanced down the street: still no sign of Azazel.

The wind had picked up, the day just the other side of brisk, so he wasn't particularly looking forward to riding on the back of a motorcycle, but Raven had insisted, and after Saturday morning, he rather owed her one. At least it wasn't raining.

"You're going to have to take a cab back. There's no sense paying the fare twice," Raven was saying. Azazel, apparently, had business in Queens today--and Erik hadn't asked what kind of business he had in Queens on a Sunday afternoon. "And, it'll give you two a chance to bond."

Erik carefully refrained from commenting on the difficulty of bonding while riding 60mph on the back of a motorcycle, the roar of the engine overwhelming anything his helmet failed to block. Raven had given him hers--electric blue and Erik was just grateful it wasn't hot pink or vibrant purple--but Erik was waiting until the last minute to put it on, the weight of it heavy in his hand.

"Besides, I suspect you'd probably fall asleep in the back of a cab right about now," she said, clearly not done stressing her point.

"I slept," Erik said, though they both knew that wasn't entirely true. What little sleep he'd gotten was mired in nightmares, Erik having spent the latter half of the night tossing and turning until he'd finally given up.

"Please, you were on the phone with Charles until four, and then you were out running by seven." Erik wasn't the only one who hadn't sleep, apparently.

"I agreed, didn't I?" Erik said. He'd done so hours ago, even before she'd called Azazel to make arrangements. Raven nodded, looking pleased, though entirely too cold. She was standing with her hands wrapped around her waist, sleeves drawn over her hands. He'd told her to wear a coat, but she hadn't listened. He unwound his scarf and handed it over. "Here," he said. She cocked an eyebrow. "It'll just get in the way on the bike. Take it upstairs for me."

The look she shot him suggested she knew exactly what he was doing and didn't approve, but she still wrapped the scarf around her neck. Erik wished he'd thought to wear a hat. The tips of her ears, visible where she'd tucked her hair behind them, were stained red with cold. Erik wanted to hustle her back inside, but knew she wouldn't leave until she'd seen him off. He settled on bringing a gloved hand to her cheek, brushing aside a stray lock, tucking it neatly back into place. She smiled. Her hair had faded somewhat since she'd first had it done; instead of a vibrant magenta, it was now a brassy copper. It startled him somewhat, staring at her now. She had grown up so much in the time he had known her.

He let his hand fall back to his side, feeling something spike in his chest that he thought might be pride. It might have been heartbreak, too.

The roar of Azazel's bike was a welcome distraction. Erik glanced over his shoulder, watching Azazel round the corner. He pulled the bike to a stop directly before them. Erik narrowed his gaze, eyeing the bike with suspicion. It looked smaller than he remembered. He'd never ridden double before, and had no idea how to feel about it--awkward came to mind. 

Azazel cut the engine and pulled off his helmet. He set it on the gas tank and dismounted, giving Erik a brief nod before moving to stand at Raven's side. She beamed at him.

He'd known they were getting serious--hell, it was painfully obvious Raven was in love, and if the look Azazel was giving her was any indication, he felt the same--but he hadn't realized how much standing next to them would make him feel out of place, like he was intruding on something very private. Azazel didn't touch her, but he stood very close, and she didn't shy away, tilting her head like she might welcome a kiss. It was somewhat awkward witnessing the girl he'd grown up with transformed into the woman Raven now was. How he had missed it until now, Erik didn't know.

He turned his back towards them, allowing Raven her privacy, staring instead down their narrow street, lined on either side with towering apartments, old mixed with new. He didn't look away until Raven tugged on his sleeve.

"I'll see you when you get back," she said, shaking her head, like she still thought his meeting Charles at the airport was ridiculous, even though he'd asked Charles if it was okay, and Charles had readily agreed. "Drive safe," she said to Azazel, and then she was gone, back into their building, the doorman waving her inside. Erik turned back to the bike.

"You ride before?" Azazel asked, already climbing onto the bike.

"Yeah," Erik said, slipping on his helmet; drawing the strap tight against his chin.

He hesitated only briefly before claiming the second seat. As soon as he was in place, Azazel twisted to catch his eye.

"One tap to slow, two taps to stop." He gestured with his chin to the back rail, Erik grateful for it. He didn't particularly want to spend the entire ride clinging to Azazel's waist.

He was still entirely too tense, he knew, so he released a few breaths, trying to let his body go limp--it wouldn't do Azazel any good to have a rigid rider at his back. Azazel waited patiently, until Erik got himself sorted; only then did he flare the engine, rocking the bike back and forth a few times until Erik got the feel of it--and Erik hadn't ridden anything quite this powerful in his day. There was an obvious shift in his posture once he decided they were ready to go, Azazel pulling out onto the street and pointing them towards the Midtown Tunnel. Erik was grateful for the route; it was cold enough on the back of the bike without the wind coming across a bridge.

It took Erik several blocks before he remembered not to lean with the turns. Azazel took it slow until Erik got it, then he picked up speed, weaving in and out of traffic--sparse though it was on a lazy Sunday afternoon. The traffic picked up when they hit the tunnel, but once they were through it petered out again. It still took them a good forty minutes to make it to JFK, though Erik was surprised to find the ride was not unpleasant.

He wondered if Charles liked motorcycles.

He could easily picture it, weekends outside the city, touring down winding country roads, Charles' arms wrapped around his waist, the sound of his laughter tickling at his ears--and in Erik's mind the bike was silent enough to hear. They'd stop at out of the way diners that sold too weak coffee and fantastic pies. He'd always wanted to do that, whenever he thought about coming to America. He and Raven used to talk about it, in hushed tones, hidden inside Erik's closet, flashlight flickering between them as they named all the things they would do once they were old enough to escape the bonds of childhood. _Go to America_ was always Raven's suggestion. She wanted to see the lights of Broadway; to see her name written amongst the stars. _I'll take you someday_ , he'd said, and he had.

Azazel slowed when they reached the airport, jockeying with yellow taxis for a position in the passenger pick-up section of Arrivals. He squeezed the bike between a cab and a town car, and then cut the engine, setting his feet on the ground to settle the bike. Erik pulled off his helmet and then used his teeth to remove his gloves, placing them in his upturned bowl, tucking everything under his arm as he dismounted.

His legs were a little shaky after riding so long, but a few quick stamps got the blood flowing again. He reached into a pocket, jeans creased from sitting so long, and pulled out a crumpled twenty. He tried to hand it to Azazel.

"For gas, and tolls and whatnot," Erik said, but Azazel shook him off, so Erik pocketed the money, vowing to invite Raven and Azazel--and Charles, always Charles--to dinner so that he could pick up the tab. Raven would like that. "Well, thanks, then."

He expected Azazel to immediately tear away, but instead he took off his helmet, setting it in front of him before giving Erik a considering glance. Erik arched an eyebrow.

Azazel laughed. "I wonder. How long you think I have to wait before I can propose to her?"

Erik's eyes grew wide. He was fairly certain he stood, blinking, mouth frozen open, for a very long time. It felt as though time had stopped, the space between one minute and the next simultaneously a heartbeat and an eternity. Azazel's expression grew serious.

"Too soon, da. Dat is what I thought." He disappeared then, beneath his helmet, the roar of the bike drowning out anything Erik might have said--which was probably good, because he still had no idea how to answer that question. He watched, dumbfounded, as Azazel rode away, Erik left standing amidst taxi exhaust and frazzled travellers, still clutching Raven's electric blue helmet.

It was some time before he was able to head inside.

He was early, but when he checked the board he found Charles' flight number listed as having arrived. Panic seized in his chest--Charles was expecting him, but what if Erik had missed him? What if Charles had arrived, assumed Erik wasn't coming and had already taken a taxi home? He was somewhat frantic as he ran towards the arrivals gate. The airport was busy, but not so much that he couldn't navigate the crowd, scanning faces, none of them Charles. He'd about given up and was about to pull out his cell when someone called his name. Erik skidded to a stop, turning in a wide circle as he sought Charles.

"Up here," Charles said, Erik glancing up to the level above, where Charles was leaning over the rail. He smiled when Erik caught his eye, [blowing a kiss like a traveller come home after a long voyage at sea](http://www.nekosmuse.com/airportkiss.gif).

 

All of Erik's tension drained. He stood, frozen in the middle of the airport, heedless of the people jostling him on either side, no one particularly impressed to find Erik blocking their path. He smiled, drinking in the sight of Charles, heart fluttering nervously even as his body grew lax, mind settling into something approaching serenity.

He had no idea how long they stood that way, staring at one another, absorbing each other's presence, but soon enough Charles pushed himself off the rail, heading for the escalators. Erik pushed through the crowd to meet him, squeezing between a woman with a particularly large suitcase and a man carrying a small dog so that he could sprint up the down escalator to reach Charles' side. As soon as he got there Charles caught a hold of his jacket and pulled Erik into a kiss.

"Hi," he said when he pulled back. Lost to the depths of Charles' gaze, Erik didn't realize they'd reached the bottom until he was spilled unceremoniously onto the next level. He stumbled his way off the escalator, Charles' good hand fitted into his, Erik using it to tug Charles out of the stream of traffic.

"God I missed you," he said when they were tucked away in a quiet corner, Charles' rollaway at their feet. He tugged Charles forward, intent on kissing him, except doing so lifted the sleeve of Charles' jacket, Erik's eyes immediately catching on the ring of bruises around Charles' wrist. He froze, staring, the world around him fading into nothingness. Charles' fingers twitched, breaking the moment. Erik slowly lifted his hand to get a closer look.

"Erik," Charles said, warning in his tone, but Erik was already shaking his head.

His hand was shaking as he turned Charles' wrist, examining the marks from every angle. He felt a little like he might be sick--and several times he had to swallow waves of nausea before they manifested into something definite. The urge to hunt down Essex and flay him came back tenfold. Had he thought Charles would tell him where to find the man, he would have boarded a plane immediately.

"You said he hadn't hurt you," Erik heard himself say, though it was certainly distant, like his voice belonged to someone else; some distant person whose world wasn't shattering.

"He didn't," Charles said. "He just grabbed my hand when I tried to answer my phone."

Erik glanced up, rather sharply; was that why Charles hadn't answered? Was he with that man? Right then, right when Erik was waiting, staring at the damned microwave clock, Essex was hurting Charles and Erik hadn't even known.

"Erik, please calm down," Charles said. His free hand--the one still wearing that damned splint--was resting on Erik's chest, fingers stroking against the space just over his heart. Erik wondered if Charles could feel the rapid pitter-patter of it, raging as it was in Erik's chest.

"I should have been there. I should have... God, Charles; what if he had hurt you? What if he had..."

It was too much to think about; too much to consider. Erik felt his breathing go shallow, even as Charles stepped into his space. Gently he took his hand back, letting his sleeve fall to cover the bruises. The hand with the splint he wrapped around Erik's waist. Erik let his head fall to Charles' shoulder, inhaling Charles' scent. He closed his eyes against the feel of Charles' fingers running through his hair.

"It wouldn't have happened," Charles said. "I used to hang out in clubs, remember. I'm rather used to watching my drink."

Erik jerked back at that, because was that supposed to help? "This isn't the first time someone has tried to do that to you?" He knew he looked angry; angry enough that people were starting to stare, undoubtedly thinking he was some brute of a boyfriend--God, they probably thought he'd left the marks on Charles' wrist. Charles settled him by curling a hand around his bicep.

"No. No," he said. "I'm saying it happens, and it's important to be smart and pay attention. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have brought it up. Please." He frowned then, expression going cloudy even as his gaze narrowed. He took a step back. "Why are you holding a motorcycle helmet?"

Erik wasn't quite up for the rapid shift in the conversation--though he suspected this was Charles' way of changing the topic. His first instinct was to ask, _What helmet?_ but then he remembered the helmet still stuck under his arm, though even then it took him several seconds to work out why he was holding it.

"Um, Azazel gave me a lift," he finally managed.

Charles nodded, looking a little relieved. "Good, I don't exactly have the head for riding a bike today," he said.

It was only then that Erik got a really good look at Charles. He'd been so relieved to see him, and then so overwhelmed by rage--and it still lingered, settling in the pit of his stomach until it almost physically hurt--that he hadn't caught the bags under Charles' eyes, or the pale lines across his brow.

"Charles," Erik said, stepping forward then, bringing a hand to his cheek. He was such an utter shit for a boyfriend; always putting himself and his needs--his freak outs--first, when clearly Charles was exhausted, probably nursing a headache--head butting someone would do that--and very obviously still shaken up by what had happened. Erik drew him into a hug, Charles coming willingly, burrowing into Erik's chest like it was then only place he wanted to be.

"Come on, I'll take you home," Erik said, not relinquishing his hold on Charles, guiding him out of the airport and towards the line of cabs without ever once breaking their embrace.

~*~

_Azazel Interlude_

He hated owing favours to people.

But of all the people to owe favours to, Remy LeBeau wasn't a bad one. LeBeau had helped Azazel out of many a legal difficulty over the years, so when he call and ask Azazel to meet him in Queens, Azazel go.

The bike always felt too light with just him on it. He was used to Raven now, who fit against him like a glove. She weighted the back end perfectly. Her brother was not so bad, but for a wiry fellow, he was a good deal heavier. Azazel rolled the bike to a stop, and then walked it closer to the curb, cutting the engine. LeBeau was standing on the sidewalk. He looked bored.

"What is here?" Azazel asked, nodding to the large warehouse at LeBeau's back.

LeBeau turned to glance over his shoulder. "That be one of the warehouses the Bureau of Land Records keeps."

Azazel nodded. LeBeau wasn't one for explanations, but Azazel didn't always need explanations. "We go in?"

"Already taken care of, mon ami," LeBeau said, patting his pocket.

Azazel frowned. He didn't ask, because if LeBeau no want to share, then it not Azazel's place to question, but it confused him, Azazel not understanding his place in this.

LeBeau, who Azazel always thought good at reading people, took pity. He lifted his coat to show a yellow envelope. "This be a copy of the deed to a little house in Westchester. Little things. Someone dies, and in the chaos no one thinks to check these things. Throw in a few unscrupulous characters and property doesn't always go to where it is supposed to go."

"So why you call?" Azazel asked, because as pretty as LeBeau's explanation was, it didn't answer his unasked question.

LeBeau smirked, eyes glinting. "Remy need a ride."

Azazel laughed. That was another reason he liked LeBeau. Remy was funny.

"Da, okay," he said, gesturing to the back of the bike. Now LeBeau owed him one. Sometimes it was good to do favours for people.

~*~

"Hank just made it back," Charles announced, setting his iPhone down on the coffee table. "Apparently the pigs are fine." He couldn't believe he'd forgotten, but after his run in with Essex, and then the stress of his presentation, not to mention the excitement of seeing Erik, the pigs had slipped his mind.

He'd leaned back on the couch now that he was done on the phone and was watching Erik and Raven puttering in the kitchen, clearing the dishes despite Charles' offer to help.

 _If in your words I'm officially living here now, then I ought to share in the chores_ , Charles had said, but Erik had only told him to rest after his flight and that they could work out a chore list tomorrow. He'd sounded perfectly serious, so Charles had retreated to the couch, glass of wine half finished, belly full of Erik's cooking--which Charles was now starting to associate with comfort food--a night of conversation and laughter doing wonders to ease the discomfort that, until now, had been threatening to suffocate him.

He'd contacted the ESHG--the governing body Essex belonged to--and filed a formal complaint this morning, though he had no idea what having done so would accomplish. On Monday he'd draft letters to Essex's Max Planck institute, and possibly the ASHG--they'd hosted the conference. Right now, however, his biggest concern was Erik.

On the surface Erik seemed fine. He'd laughed over dinner, engaged in the conversation, teased Raven--and endured her teasing--all while smiling and seeming perfectly at ease. The problem was Charles knew him well enough to know that he was working very hard to maintain that image. It showed in the little things; in the way he constantly hovered at Charles' side, or the way he touched Charles at every available moment, as though afraid Charles might disappear. Or the way he'd insisted Charles bring all his clothes to the apartment after they'd stopped at his, cab idling downstairs. Charles had only intended to grab a change of clothes. Instead he left with two suitcases filled to capacity.

 _We'll get a truck for the rest of your stuff next weekend_ , Erik had said, and while Charles was more than a little thrilled by the prospect--though oddly nostalgic about the thought of leaving his apartment--he didn't miss the near hysteria in Erik's voice.

Then there were the dark shadows that settled across Erik's face whenever he caught sight of Charles' wrist--and more often than not Charles found Erik staring at it, no matter how far down he drew his sleeves.

He told himself not to worry about it; to relax and enjoy being home and safe. He tried shifting further back into the couch, letting its cushions embrace him while he watched Erik dry and put away dishes, Raven washing. As a pair, they were perfectly in sync; a well-oiled machine that worked with perfect precision. Charles tried not to envy them that; he really, really did.

Erik was smiling when he finally hung up the dish towel and crossed to Charles' side, sinking down onto the couch, half leaning, half nuzzling into Charles' side. Charles melted against him.

"You really should have let me help," Charles said. Erik shook his head.

"You can do tomorrow's batch." Even as he spoke Erik turned, pressing his nose into Charles' neck. He inhaled sharply, and then shifted to press his lips to the same spot, Charles shivering at the contact.

They'd kissed at the airport, several times, and had spent the better part of the cab ride back to his apartment making out, and then there was a brief ten minutes up against the door to Charles' apartment before Charles mumbled, _Why did you tell the cabby to wait?_ which reminded Erik of their mission, sex aborted in favour of tossing Charles' belongings into bags.

Raven had offered to give them privacy, but Charles had refused--he was not going to let his moving in inconvenience her in any way--and now Charles had been home for the better part of five hours with only a handful of tantalizing kisses to make up for days of drought.

He wanted to take Erik on the couch, Raven be damned.

Instead he tilted his head, letting Erik kiss a line down his throat.

"If you two are going to be cute, I'm going to go get ready for my date," Raven said, earning a mumbled affirmation from Erik, Charles incapable of even grunting because Erik was currently sucking on his Adam's apple.

Belatedly, it occurred to him that Raven had mentioned something about jazz music with Azazel. Charles might have asked, but by the time he had his faculties under control again, Raven had disappeared into the bathroom, and Erik was toying with the top button of his shirt.

"How long?" he asked, the question coming out a high-pitched squeak. Charles blushed, and then cleared his throat. He asked the question a second time.

"Twenty minutes or so," Erik said. He was still mouthing Charles' neck, re-colouring the mostly faded marks from Thursday--and Charles had had to wear high collars the entire weekend. He was clinging, too, hands fisted, one on Charles' shirt; the other in Charles' hair. There was a thin edge of desperation in the erratic panting of his breath. Charles settled a hand in the centre of his chest.

"Easy," he said, pushing back. To his surprise, Erik went willingly, ducking his head.

Doing so brought Charles' hand into view, his shirt cuff having lifted, livid purple bruises encircling his wrist. Erik frowned, lips pressing into a thin line as he stared. Charles made to remove his hand, but too late Erik reached out and caught it, the move as startling as it was quick. Despite his speed, there was something infinitely gentle in Erik's touch. He pulled Charles' hand towards him, not stopping until he had brought it to his mouth, kissing first each of Charles' fingers before flipping his hand to press a kiss to the centre of his palm. When he was done, he moved to Charles' wrist, placing feather-light kisses along the bruise. Charles sat perfectly still and allowed Erik the ritual.

When his kisses became little more than nuzzles, Charles took back his hand, turning his palm and pressing it against Erik's cheek, Erik pressing into the contact, eyes squeezed shut, pain and worry and anger--so much anger--readily apparent in his features.

"Hey," Charles said, shifting closer then. "Hey," he said again, which seemed to get through, Erik pulling back, shaking himself a little, eyes wide and watery as he slid from the couch, standing to offer Charles a hand.

"Come on," he said. Charles was quick to obey.

He let Erik lead him down the hall, past the open bathroom door, and then Raven's closed bedroom door, and then into Erik's--their--room. It felt like coming home.

Charles moved immediately to the bed, sinking down onto it like it was a welcome old friend. He tugged the hand still clasp in his, bringing Erik down alongside him. For the longest time they remained, sprawled across the covers, Charles' head tucked under Erik's chin, their feet and calves hanging off the end of the bed. They listened to the sounds of Raven puttering in the next room. Erik kept nuzzling Charles' hair.

"My psychiatrist wants you to come to one of my appointments," Erik said, seemingly out of the blue, though it was obvious he'd been thinking about it. The suggestion was somewhat surprising--and more than a little nerve-wracking--but Charles agreed.

"Of course, whenever you'd like."

"Wednesday. I have appointments Monday and Wednesday afternoon, but I'll need to tell her your coming, so Wednesday."

It was official, Charles thought, secure in the cocoon of Erik's arms. He had officially become an adult. His research was trucking steadily along. His best friend was getting married and having babies. His parents were both dead and he probably stood to inherit their fortune. He was actively working to destroy one man's career and another man's financial security. He had moved in with his boyfriend. And he was now seeing a psychiatrist.

Funny how, even five years ago, the thought of any of those things would have sent him running; now he felt oddly at peace, content to see where life took them. He'd probably start thinking about real-estate soon.

"You're being oddly quiet," Erik said. He'd grown very still since asking Charles to go with him. Too late Charles realized it had probably been an incredibly hard thing to do.

He pulled back so that he could catch Erik's eye, smiling softly as he said, "I just decided I'm rather happy. It feels... nice."

For perhaps the first time since Erik had arrived at the airport, the smile he gave was utterly genuine; there was nothing hidden beneath it, no worry, no concern, no anger. It grew teeth, Erik grinning. He lifted an eyebrow then, Charles catching the hint, listening intently to the sound of Raven in the front hall.

"I'm off," she called, Erik waiting all of five seconds after they heard the front door close behind her to pounce, kissing Charles like he had on that escalator in the airport.

"You have no idea..." Erik muttered between kisses, though it should have been fairly obvious that Charles, in fact, did. He tried to say as much, but then Erik's tongue was in his mouth, his hands ghosting through Charles' hair, tracing patterns down the sides of his jaw.

Charles was far too impatient for that.

He pushed Erik back, Erik letting out a whimpered protest before he caught on to what Charles was trying to do. Then he was instantly on board, stripping out of his clothes faster than Charles would have thought humanly possible.

It made it so that by the time Erik was naked, Charles still had briefs and socks to strip off, something Erik took great pleasure in doing. It was still a bit of a fumble, getting beneath the covers, Erik not wanting to relinquish his hold long enough for them to shift fully up the bed. They ended up somewhere in the middle, feet still hanging off the end, though Charles no longer felt like they might end up in a heap on the floor.

Erik was sucking on his neck again.

"God, I missed you," Charles managed. He couldn't even remember his presentation this morning--he'd woken after a night of broken sleep to his ringing cell, Hank giving him all of twenty minutes to shower and shave before they were seated over breakfast, flipping through power-point presentations. The rest was a blur, including the cab ride to the airport, and the flight across the country, Charles thoroughly occupied with envisioning this moment.

He wanted to crawl inside Erik and never come out; and from the way Erik was rutting against Charles' hip--hands tracing across Charles' skin, mouth marking Charles' neck--he was fairly certain Erik felt the same.

He shifted then, pulling on Erik's arm until Erik took the hint and settled over him, slipping between Charles' splayed legs, Charles bringing his hands to the back of Erik's neck to direct his kisses. Erik went perfectly pliable, smiling into Charles' neck as Charles moved him from under Charles' chin to the space behind Charles' ear. He nipped at the delicate skin there, laving the space with his tongue.

They'd done this before, Charles recalled, back when he'd thought it might encourage Erik to top. The way his head was tilted, he could see into the tiny green and blue bathroom, the sight of it bringing a flash of Erik as he'd seen him in the mirror; pupils dilated, hair dishevelled, skin flushed. He'd looked desperate and so utterly despoiled. Charles wanted so badly to see that again, but he knew better than to ask, allowing Erik to lead them where he wanted this to go.

It was somewhat startling, then, when Erik moved up to Charles' ear, nipping at his lobe before he asked, "Can I fuck you?" in a breathless whisper, like the words were forbidden; like he was asking something impossible.

Charles groaned. "Oh, God, yes."

Erik went impossibly still; for a brief moment Charles half expected him to retreat, to vanish from the bed and the room, overcome by what he'd asked. Instead he merely pulled back, catching Charles' gaze, staring intently into his eyes until he found whatever it was he was searching for.

Once he had, he still asked, "Are you sure?"

There was such awkward hesitation in Erik's words; in his posture too, rigid and tense. Charles pushed himself up onto an elbow so that he was once again in Erik's space. He briefly caught Erik's bottom lip between his teeth, sucking slightly before releasing it with a wet pop. When he drew back, Erik was looking about as undone as he had that night in the bathroom.

Very clearly, and with total conviction, Charles said, "The only time I will not want you to fuck me is if you don't want to fuck me."

For the longest minute Erik didn't say anything, still pressed up on his arms, hips pressed into Charles' so that Charles could feel the length of Erik's erection along his own. Erik glanced between Charles' gaze and his mouth, then back up to his eyes.

"I think I do," he said, sounding less certain than perhaps Charles would have liked, but they could always abort if things went badly--it wouldn't be the first time.

"Okay. We'll take it slow, and if you want to stop we'll stop."

That seemed to be exactly what Erik needed to hear, because he immediately settled, his tension easing as he lowered himself back down, recapturing Charles' lips in a kiss that seemed to go on forever--so long, in fact, that Charles was starting to think Erik might be staging a delay.

He did pull back eventually, pressing a light kiss to Charles' nose before telling him to stay put. Then he was up and out of the bed, into the bathroom, returning with two bottles of lube--the old one and a replacement, telling Charles exactly what Erik had been up to this weekend--along with a new box of condoms.

His hands were trembling. He looked oddly resolved.

"Come here," Charles said, taking the paraphernalia from his hands and tossing them onto the bed so that he could properly pull Erik back down beside him. "This doesn't have to be so solemn. We can just have fun and see where the night takes us."

Erik smiled at that, but he still looked a little nervous--still swallowed awkwardly before Charles gave up and pushed Erik back down onto the mattress. He was up and straddling Erik's hips before Erik had fully settled.

A look of confused arousal flickered across Erik's face. "I thought I was..." He gestured, somewhat obscenely Charles thought, the sight so comical he couldn't help but laugh.

"You are, but I thought this might be easier," he said, pressing Erik's hips firmly onto the mattress before reaching for the lube. He grabbed both, tossing the new one on Erik's chest. "We're going to need that, get it open," he instructed, using what was left of their old supply to coat his fingers, Erik watching with rapt attention, still seeming a fair bit uncertain until Charles reached around behind to begin playing with his hole.

Erik's eyes went wide. He swallowed, though this time it was obviously not nerves. He licked at his lips, and then began fumbling with the new bottle. Charles tried to smile, but the first press of two fingers inside--sharp and intrusive, just this side of uncomfortable--stole his breath, his mouth falling open into an 'o' of surprise as he tried to remember the last time he had done this.

That night over the sink, he recalled. It had been a while.

He took his time, slowly working his fingers in and out, enjoying the way Erik was watching him, clearly aroused, clearly on board Charles' plans for the night. Instead of adding a third, Charles nodded for Erik to coat his fingers, gently directing them to join Charles' two once he had.

"Are you sure, I'm not sure you should..." Erik said, but Charles pulled Erik's wrist and Erik slipped inside, the angle awkward, the burn delightful.

"You're a lot bigger than this," Charles said. And God how he'd felt it; how it had lingered, Erik filling him so completely Charles didn't think he'd ever, ever find anything to compare--it made him deliriously happy to know he didn't need to.

Erik hesitated a bit at that, but then Charles moaned, Erik's fingers sliding along his own, moving in tandem until Charles was half desperate. It seemed to spur Erik on, the fingers inside Charles doing more than just going through the motions. They scissored and twisted, fucking up deep inside, then slipping shallow to play with the ring of muscles around Charles' opening, only to press back up with such force it took Charles' breath away.

He was panting now; desperate and loud; the sound broken by moans and whimpers as Erik's enthusiasm mounted. Charles' hand had stopped moving entirely, directly only by Erik's movements, Erik having braced himself on an elbow to get a better angle. The press of Erik's knuckles against Charles' perineum every time Erik bottomed out was enough to set off stars behind his eyes. At this rate, he was going to come long before Erik slid inside.

"Oh, God, stop, stop, you need to stop," Charles said, cursing his damned brace which limited his movements, fumbling awkwardly to squeeze the base of his cock while Erik froze completely.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Charles let out a little laugh.

"Just desperately close to coming," he said, and then, because it needed to be said--especially with Erik--asked, "Do you still want to fuck me? Because I'd really like that."

Erik exhaled, looking momentarily conflicted before he nodded, adding a second later, "Yeah," which was pretty much all the confirmation Charles needed. He slowly removed his fingers, taking Erik's with him, feeling incredibly empty in the time it took him to retrieve a condom and roll it over Erik's length. Erik watched the proceedings with wide eyes, propped on two elbows now, expression torn between panic and desire. Charles covered his length, pausing to lean forward and press a soft kiss to Erik's lips, Erik relaxing marginally at the contact.

"You tell me to stop and I'll stop," Charles said. Erik nodded, a little reverently. Charles maintained eye contact as he reached for the new bottle of lube, liberally coating Erik's cock before shifting up, lining himself so that he could sink down onto Erik's length.

Erik closed his eyes.

"No," Charles said. "I need to see."

It took obvious effort, but Erik's eyes fluttered open. He looked determined now, and he nodded slightly when Charles paused with Erik's tip pressed against his opening. He sank down.

Erik kept his eyes open, but Charles could tell he was fighting to do so. He looked--blown apart. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, groaning as he did, entire body shaking--though whether with nerves or the effort not to move, Charles couldn't tell. Charles sank a little lower. Erik's groans grew louder. He was biting his lip so hard Charles was surprised he didn't break the skin.

"Okay?" Charles asked, about halfway and, God; he'd forgotten how big Erik was. It was some time before Erik processed the question.

He very purposely nodded. Charles sank the rest of the way down.

The move appeared too much for Erik's restraint. His eyes fell closed, his mouth falling open as he let out a series of curses Charles couldn't identify with any language--they were more like wordless muttering; chants or prayers to some unnamed deity. Charles remained perfectly still--hard to do with Erik seated fully inside him, stretching Charles in ways Charles wanted to be stretched every damned day.

He waited.

Eventually Erik fell silent, mouth still open as he panted. His hands had come to Charles' hips, and he was gripping them hard enough to leave bruises--the thought spiked something ugly in Charles' chest, but Charles pushed the sensation aside. Slowly, Erik opened his eyes. He looked drugged.

It was positively beautiful.

"Are you ready?" Charles asked, half expecting Erik to say no--to ask Charles to stop because he looked about as lost as he had the night in the bathroom, the edge of his eyes crinkled with near panic. Instead he released a shaky breath and nodded.

Charles started moving. He fucked himself down onto Erik's cock, hips twisting, grinding into Erik every time he reached Erik's pelvis. Erik did little save cling to Charles' hips, as though for dear life, watching Charles with wide, blown eyes, lip once again caught between his teeth as he panted through his nose.

Charles was merciless.

If they'd gotten this far, then he was damn-well going to fuck Erik until Erik couldn't see straight--something that seemed to be happening if Erik's crossed eyes were any indication. He set a relentless pace, sweat beading across his skin, dripping in trails down his spine to pool in the small of his back. Erik was flushed and sweating, too, damp hair curled around his ears and hanging in his eyes. The next time Charles pressed back down, grinding hard against him, Erik caught him, holding him captive there, grip crushing where he held Charles around his hips. His was staring at Charles with something close to wonder.

"I want..." he got out, and Charles could only nod, desperately close, clinging only because he wanted Erik to come first.

He had no idea what Erik had wanted, or even what he'd intended to do, so it was somewhat of a surprise when Erik sat up, tugging on Charles until Charles got the hint and shifted, wrapping his legs around Erik's hips so that he was seated in Erik's lap. The change in position took Erik that much deeper, Charles groaning at the sensation.

And then Erik started fucking him.

It was somewhat awkward, and consisted mostly of Erik rocking his hips, driving up into Charles and then pulling back, the range of motion severely limited, but Charles didn't care because it was about the most incredibly thing he had ever experienced. Erik looked crazed; his eyes were wide, his teeth bared, and he held Charles to him tighter than perhaps Charles would have wanted. Charles let the heels of his feet settle against Erik's ass, urging him on.

The touch seemed to spur something in Erik, because he surged forward, arm coiling around Charles' waist to brace him as Erik lifted him up, driving hard into him over and over again until Erik's expression crumbled, hips jerking frantically. Charles clung desperately to Erik's shoulders, which were pretty much the only thing giving him leverage. Erik remained as taut as a bowstring while he came, collapsing a second later, falling back to the bed, Charles falling with him, the landing driving Erik so far inside Charles' vision whited.

They both groaned.

Erik was still clinging to him, though now they were once again seated, Erik with his legs splayed out in front, Charles with his wrapped around Erik's waist, Erik still buried inside. It was Erik who reached for him, hand wrapping around Charles' cock--the first time he'd touched Charles all night; neither of them exactly having the patience for much foreplay. His grip was steady and strong, and he stroked Charles from root to tip, picking up speed in response to Charles' whimpers. All too soon Charles was coming over Erik's hand.

For the longest time after neither of them moved, Charles half afraid to breathe. He waited for Erik to draw back first, Erik carefully maneuvering them so that he could pull out. He remained seated, Charles taking a moment to remove and discard Erik's condom before crawling back into his lap.

"Are you okay? Was that okay?" he asked, somewhat alarmed by Erik's silence.

Erik caught his eye, still looking a little startled, though nowhere near as freaked out as he had the other night. He nodded.

"Yeah, yeah; that was..."

"Better than before?" Charles offered.

A grin broke out over Erik's face. He laughed. "Much better," he said, and then, because Erik seemed to like being contrary, he crushed Charles to his chest, buried his face in the side of Charles' neck, and hitched a sob.

Charles wasn't entirely too sure what to do about that, so he settled a gentle hand on the back of Erik's head, petting his head while Erik panted against his neck, Charles very deliberately ignoring the dampness spreading across his skin.

It was probably just sweat from Erik's hair, he told himself; they were both in need of a shower. It was still a long time before he suggested as much.


	17. Chapter 17

_does it  
exist?_

_myth  
legend  
figment?_

_until now  
until you_

_ever after_

_just  
words_

_strung together  
without  
hope  
promise_

_they mean  
so much more_

_now  
with you._

[Ever After, by Erik Lehnsherr, November, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/532457)

~*~  


_Moira Interlude_

"Tell me why I'm here again, and not Erik," Moira said. She sat with her legs over the side of the exam table, feet swinging back and forth, the paper cover crinkling beneath her ass. The sound was oddly soothing.

Charles sat on the stool reserved for whatever doctor they'd send in once his x-rays came back. He had his hand free of the splint and was flexing his fingers. Even from this distance, Moira could tell his range of motion was limited. Every so often he winced and straightened his fingers.

"Because I haven't seen you in forever," Charles said; which, while true, was very obviously not why she was here.

Moira hummed her disbelief and then jumped down from the table, moving to a row of cupboards against the back wall. There was a poster of a woman's uterus plastered to one of the doors. She ran a finger over it, her free hand coming automatically to her stomach. She wasn't showing yet--couldn't even feel it yet--but she was acutely aware of its existence, the little zygote growing inside her.

"And, because I'm supposed to help you plan your wedding, and aside from the venue and date, we haven't even talked about it," Charles continued, which was about as obvious a blind as him wanting them to spend time together.

Moira let her hand fall away, her stomach suddenly cold. She turned to lean against the low counter, several inches over from the sink--exam room sinks were notoriously unsanitary. She crossed her legs, foot absently twitching. She couldn't seem to sit still lately. "I thought that was what my wedding planner was for," she said.

The look of blind relief on Charles' face pretty much confirmed Moira's suspicions; she was here in place of Erik because Charles didn't want Erik here. Now she just needed to work out why.

"You've found one, then," Charles was saying. Moira let her disapproval show on her face. It was the same look she used to level at him whenever he let his romantic life get in the way of his studies--something that obviously hadn't changed now that he'd graduated and joined the ranks of his superiors.

"Yes, and she's going to cost me a minor fortune. I'm sure I'll be bankrupt by the end of it, but that's neither here nor there. Why isn't Erik here?"

It was almost comical, watching Charles open and close his mouth as he struggled to find a response. Several minutes passed before he seemed to work out how best to answer the question, except before he could speak, his phone started ringing. Moira rolled her eyes; they'd have to start this whole process all over again. It would be mid-afternoon before she got a straight answer out of him.

God, pregnancy was making her bitchy. Wasn't it supposed to be euphoric? All cute maternity clothes and knitted booties? These days she pretty much wanted to sleep and punch people in the face. She really hoped this was only the first trimester. She would gladly eat [custard covered fish sticks](http://www.nekosmuse.com/fish.jpg) if it meant finding a little serenity.

"Are you going to answer that?" she asked when Charles' phone continued its ringing. He'd pulled it out of his pocket and was staring at the display screen. A horrible thought occurred to her. "Tell me you haven't broken up with him," she said.

Charles glanced up, startled, his expression quickly becoming confused. "What?" he asked, tucking his iPhone--which had stopped ringing--back into his pocket.

"Seriously, did you guys break up?" she asked.

If anything, her question only served to perplex him further, but then he touched his pocket, putting two and two together. He laughed.

"Of course not," he said. "That was my lawyer. I just figured I'd wait to return his call until I was back in my office and not waiting to see if my time in restraints was over." He held up his hand then, skin dry and flaky from the splint. Moira tried not to find the sight nauseating--not an easy feat given that both the scent of her shampoo and the colour yellow made her nauseous these days.

Somehow they'd managed to get off topic, and Moira still wanted to know why Erik wasn't here--the last time she'd seen them, they were practically attached at the hip--but unfortunately it was then that Charles' doctor chose to make his appearance. He slipped in through the door, not bothering to knock, his nose buried in an open file.

"Your hand is fine, Mr. Xavier," he said, without glancing up.

"Oh, good," Charles said. He stood then, shooting Moira a wide grin, clearly expecting to leave, but before he could shrug into his coat, his doctor glanced up from his files and gestured Charles to the exam table. Its paper cover clearly showed Moira's ass print--God, was it already that big? Charles deflated, but went willingly, hopping up onto the table. He barely fit in Moira's imprint.

"Let's just take a look at your range of motion."

"Of course," Charles said, holding out his hand.

Still not able to sit still, Moira pushed herself off the counter, coming to stand at Charles' side, watching with some degree of interest as the doctor walked Charles through making fists and straightening his fingers. It wasn't until he asked for Charles' other hand--obviously wanting to make a comparison--that Moira noticed the bruises.

She had no idea how she'd missed them; they were blindingly obvious. Obviously Charles' doctor thought so too, because he pulled up Charles' sleeve to get a better look. Charles fought to keep his expression neutral.

"Jesus," Moira said, unable to stop herself. Charles' doctor glanced at her curiously. Charles coloured.

"It's not as bad as it looks. Some guy just got a little forceful with me," he said. At the doctor's look, he shrugged and added, "Genetics conferences can get a little wild." He let out a weak little laugh, catching Moira's eye then, expression silently pleading, like he wanted her to interfere; maybe order Charles' doctor to stop probing the bruise. Moira pressed her lips together and gave a firm shake of her head.

"It's not broken," the doctor said, "but the bruising is pretty deep. This wasn't just a little forceful." He glanced up then, catching Charles' eye, Charles deflating somewhat under the scrutiny.

Something sick and ugly settled in Moira's stomach. She felt her colour drain.

"Please tell me this wasn't..." was as far as she got before Charles turned to glare at her.

"Absolutely not. Jesus, why do you think he's not here? Because someone sees bruises on someone's wrist they automatically think boyfriend, and it would kill Erik to know anyone thought him capable of hurting me like that. This," he held up his hand, "is the work of an asshole who tried to drug me and drag me back to his hotel room, except instead I head butted him in the face and then went and called Erik, who managed, across thousands of miles, to calm me down, so don't you ever think him capable of something like that again."

He was yelling by the time he was finished, cheeks stained red with fury. Guilt coiled in Moira's stomach--it settled nicely alongside her nausea. Horror filled her at the thought of what had actually happened. Moira ducked her head.

"I'm sorry," she said. The doctor glanced between them. Charles, who had deflated after his outburst, thrust his newly de-splinted hand under the doctor's nose.

"Can we?" he asked. The doctor nodded, bending and twisting Charles' fingers until he was satisfied, telling Charles the nurse would give him a physio referral on the way out, and then he was gone.

For a long time after, Charles continued to sit on the table, head tilted back, staring up at the ceiling. After several minutes, he exhaled, glanced back down, and then very carefully drew his sleeves over his wrists.

"Charles," Moira said, though she had no idea what she wanted to say--an apology, or perhaps a request for more information.

"I'm sorry," Charles said, though why he felt the need to apologize, she didn't know. "Can we not talk about this right now?" He didn't wait for a reply, jumping off the table and slipping out the door before Moira could formulate a reply.

She could up with him by the nurses' desk, where he was waiting patiently for a physio referral.

"Charles," she said, but he turned quickly to face her, satchel already strung over his shoulder.

["Don't," he said, tone pleading.](http://www.nekosmuse.com/dont.gif) He let out a little laugh--it was painful to hear--and turned back to the desk. Moira pressed her lips together and carefully refrained from speaking.

~*~

Erik fiddled with the key in his hand--Charles' key; he'd had it made today. Dr. Frost was watching him, silently from across the great expanse of her desk; and Erik had no idea why he'd chosen the chair again, when he was just starting to find her couch comfortable. She disapproved of Charles moving in with him--not that she'd said as much, but he could tell. She still thought they were moving too fast.

That wasn't what Erik wanted to talk about. It was a done deal as far as he was concerned.

"He could have hurt him," Erik said, meaning Essex could have hurt Charles, but Dr. Frost always paid attention, so she would easily deduce as much. "He could have hurt him, and it would have been my fault."

Was it even his place, he wondered, to tell Dr. Frost about Essex and what he'd tried to do to Charles?

"Why would it have been your fault, Erik?" Dr. Frost asked. She sounded so very patient. God, Erik still had no idea why he came here; what he was trying to accomplish with this.

"I should have been there," he said. That was the crux of it; he should have been there, and because he wasn't someone had almost hurt Charles.

Dr. Frost shifted--the movement was slight, but Erik noticed. Her expression was still so carefully neutral, but Erik could tell she was going to rebut him--not that she would ever word it as such.

"Erik, you're not responsible for Charles or Charles' wellbeing. Charles is his own person, and he is capable of taking care of himself, and while I understand that you feel protective of him--and that is normal--you can't always be there for him."

Erik shook his head, because that wasn't really the point. He turned the key in his hand. The metal was no longer cool; his skin had warmed it to the touch.

"I know he's capable of taking care of himself," Erik said, because Charles was--he was easily one of the strongest people Erik knew. Even now he was filing complaints, doing his best to ensure Essex never did this again, displaying a strength Erik had more than once wished he possessed.

"You feel responsible for people. Charles, Raven," Dr. Frost said.

Erik thought about that for a few minutes before he nodded. Of course he felt responsible for them; was it really so wrong to want to keep the people he loved safe?

"That's okay, Erik. It's good, even, but you can't blame yourself when something like this happens. You're not God."

Dr. Frost's statement was so patently ridiculous Erik wanted to laugh; except, when he tried, all that came out was a strangled sounding grunt. His lips twisted, even as his jaw clenched, Erik running a hand--the one not holding the key--through his hair.

"Aren't I supposed to be getting better?" he asked, because it seemed all therapy was doing for him was bringing up more and more issues. Dr. Frost was supposed to be curing him, not making him worse.

Dr. Frost gave him a level look, even as she sat back in her chair. The late afternoon sunlight streaming in through her tiny windows fell across the corner of her desk, illuminating thousands of tiny dust motes that caught and held Erik's attention. A phantom draft made him shiver.

"Tell me what you mean by better," she instructed.

This time Erik let out a weak little laugh. He wanted to throw something, but the only thing in his possession was Charles' key, and he didn't want to lose that.

The problem was he had no idea how to answer that. Better meant not having reoccurring nightmares, and not hating that he had no photographs of his mother--that he couldn't remember what she looked like. Better meant being able to fuck Charles--because Charles apparently wanted him to and Erik would give Charles the world if he could--without being overwhelmed by the experience. Better meant being happy for Raven and not wanting to punch walls because one day she was going to get better and leave him. Better meant not comparing Essex to Shaw; not hating himself for not taking the path Charles was taking. Better meant not having panic attacks for no adequate reason save that the universe appeared to hate him. Better meant being worthy of Charles, because right now Erik was fairly certain he wasn't.

"I just want to be normal," he said.

"Erik."

There was something in the way Dr. Frost said his name that caught Erik's attention. Erik's breath stuttered as he glanced across the table to meet her gaze.

"This isn't like treating a cold. There's no magic formula here that's just going to make everything better. You've spent a lot of your life repressing a lot of issues, and they have to come to light before you can even begin the journey to self-healing. This isn't something that takes weeks, Erik. It can take years; a lifetime, even. I know you don't believe this, but we are making good progress here; better than I expected. You should be proud of how far you've come."

Erik shook his head, because it clearly wasn't far enough. He was about to say as much when Dr. Frost held up a hand.

"Life isn't a fairy tale, Erik. This isn't a story that's going to end in a happily ever after. Life doesn't work that way. I know you're worried about Charles, but if he cares about you, and talking to you I think he does, then he will accept that you are a work in progress."

It wasn't what Erik wanted to hear, but he couldn't find any fault with it, so instead of answering, he sank back into his chair and rolled Charles' key over the back of his knuckles. From across her desk, Dr. Frost watched him, impassive, Erik letting his silence speak for him until the session came to an end. He slid the key into his pocket and stood.

"Charles has agreed to come on Wednesday, if that's okay," he said. Dr. Frost nodded, but he could tell she wasn't pleased with the tail end of their session.

He told himself he didn't care, that it wasn't his responsibility to share everything with her; that sometimes he just needed his space. He was in the middle of gathering his coat when Dr. Frost stood and crossed around to the front of her desk. She leaned against it.

"You've come a long way, Erik. Try not to get frustrated now," she said. She sounded almost friendly.

Erik hesitated before nodding. He felt marginally guilty for shutting her out, though clearly she had forgiven him. He pushed the thought aside, slid into his coat and left the room. Angel ignored him completely as he passed her desk, clearly sensing his need for isolation. It lingered on the ride home, people shying away from him on the subway, even his doorman giving him a wide berth--an impressive feat considering Erik had to leave Charles' key with him.

He was almost glad to arrive upstairs and find Raven out for the day. He suspected he needed a little time to unwind before she got home; before Charles got home. Crossing to the couch, Erik sank down onto it. He pulled out his Moleskine, and started to write.

~*~

Moira followed him back to his office, lingering like she was afraid to leave him alone. Charles sighed, and didn't object when she followed him inside. He threw himself onto the couch. After a moment's hesitation, Moira sat gingerly at his side.

"I've already filed two complaints, and written a third letter, and no, I don't want to get the police involved," Charles said. It was the first he'd mentioned it since she'd seen the bruises.

The day felt unending, and he still had a least a few hours in the lab before he could go home. He had to remind himself that home meant Erik's place, something that should have delighted him, but he was too exhausted to feel anything other than bone-weary tiredness--this despite having gotten a fairly good night's sleep last night; though he always slept well next to Erik. He supposed it was simply being back at work; running in circles trying to catch up while simultaneously re-living his encounter with Essex as he retold the story for various authorities.

They were essentially treating it like a harassment claim--which was rather ridiculous, but because Charles hadn't involved the police, there wasn't much else they could do. At the very least Essex would face suspension, maybe even lose his license. Even if that didn't happen, he doubted Essex would have an easy time finding funding after this. If Charles wasn't still so very angry, he might have felt bad for that.

"Do you want to talk about it at all?" Moira asked. She'd been around after Scott, while Charles, reckless and rebounding, had taken some questionable chances, including having a lot of sex under fairly dubious circumstances. He hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but looking back, it was clear there were a lot of instances when Charles was really too drunk to have properly consented. He wondered what that said about him that that hadn't occurred to him until Erik.

"It's fine. Mostly it just kind of freaked me out, and, of course, it upset Erik." He hated that it had upset Erik, because Erik had enough on his plate without dealing with Charles' problems.

Moira's lips had pressed into a thin line, like she disapproved entirely of the statement. Charles could almost hear her next thought, so before she could say it--tell him he had a right to be upset about someone trying to rape him--he held up a hand.

"It's fine," he said, and then, because changing the subject seemed like a good idea, added, "I moved in with Erik."

Moira's eyes grew wide. Unbidden, a hand came to her stomach--she did that a lot lately. She blinked, and then shifted forward on the couch, turning so that she could catch his eyes.

"Him and his sister?" she asked. Charles nodded. "Isn't that... I don't know, kind of weird?"

Charles frowned. He understood how that might be true for some people--and certainly he couldn't see Moira letting Sean's sister move in with them when they got around to it--but Raven was part of the package. The problem was he had no idea how to explain that.

"I like his sister," he settled on saying, and he did. She felt like family, and for someone who'd never had family that was something Charles was more than happy to acquire.

He could tell Moira didn't exactly approve--or at the very least she didn't understand--but she didn't say anything else. Charles didn't want to explain his relationship with Raven, or her relationship with Erik; he doubted it would make sense to anyone but them. He was about to turn the conversation back to wedding planning, but before he got the chance, his cell phone rang. Thinking it was Erik--his appointment would have just ended---he was quick to retrieve it from his coat pocket.

It was somewhat of a surprise to find Remy LeBeau's name staring up at him from the screen.

Without answering, Charles leaned forward and set the phone down on the edge of his desk. He glanced back to Moira, and found her eyeing him speculatively.

"Lawyer," he explained.

"You don't think you ought to answer?" she asked.

Charles wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, because of course he ought to answer. He should have called back Friday, and since then LeBeau had left at least three messages. He wasn't even sure why he didn't want to speak to LeBeau, except perhaps that he had a fairly good idea what LeBeau was going to tell him and Charles wasn't quite ready to deal with that reality.

"I'd rather call him back in private," Charles said, which was both a valid excuse and the truth. Unfortunately it rather backfired, because Moira immediately levered herself off the couch, brushing the creases from her pants as she crossed to the door.

"I need to get back to work anyway," she said. She caught his eye then, gaze narrowing as though she was searching for something. Charles had no idea if she found it, but she offered a weak smile, inclined her head and then slipped out the door. Charles released a breath and then glanced to his phone.

Hank was probably expecting him.

Except he knew what he'd end up doing, so instead of fleeing to the relative safety of the lab, Charles reached for his phone. There wasn't a new message, so he simply brought up LeBeau's number and waited for it to connect. LeBeau answered after three rings.

"You be a hard man to get a hold of, Xavier," he said. Charles let out a little laugh.

"My apologies. I was in L.A. for a conference. I'm assuming you've made some progress."

He wanted to pace--wanted the motion to give him an artificial sense of productivity--but instead he stood at the edge of his desk, fiddling with a stack of folders, running his thumb along their edge, strange to be able to use this hand so freely, stiff as it was.

"I'll say. Remy do good. You want the news over the phone, or you want to come in?"

Charles considered the question. _Over the phone_ , he wanted to say, but he wanted Erik there; wanted Erik at his side whatever the outcome.

"I could come in," he said. His thumb slipped a little, paper slicing through the skin. Charles drew it back with a hiss, sticking it in his mouth to stem the bleeding.

"Remy's got time tomorrow or Wednesday after three."

The decision shouldn't have been difficult, and yet it was. Charles paused for an embarrassingly long time before deciding it probably didn't matter either way. He was still tempted to tell LeBeau to forget everything; to say that he didn't care about the money. Instead he said, "I could do tomorrow at four."

"Remy see you then," LeBeau said. Charles' hand was shaking slightly as he disconnected the call.

He immediately texted Erik, getting a reply almost immediately--meaning Erik was undoubtedly expecting Charles' call. A second later his phone rang. Charles plastered on a smile and then answered.

"Hey," he said.

It occurred to him then that he was still standing in the middle of his office, thumb still stinging from the cut. He crossed behind his desk, pulled out his chair and sank down onto it.

"Hey," Erik said. He sounded somewhat relieved, like hearing from Charles had made his afternoon.

Charles' smile transformed into something genuine. He felt his tension ease. "You'll be happy to know I am now splint free."

Erik laughed. He'd complained bitterly about Charles going to the appointment without him, but Charles had kissed his neck and promised to call, and Erik had relented. It was nice to hear his pleasure, even over the phone.

"And, I have an appointment tomorrow at four with that lawyer." He left the invitation unsaid--Erik knew Charles wanted him there.

"I can do four," Erik said, Charles grinning. It was somewhat amazing how quickly his mood improved whenever he talked to Erik. "The more important question is; when will you be home and what do you want for dinner?"

 _You_ , Charles wanted to say, because he honestly would have been content going hungry if it meant getting to curl up in bed with Erik sooner. He doubted Raven would appreciate that, however--and it was his turn to do the dishes--so instead he said, "I should be home shortly after six, and surprise me."

Erik hummed, like he was already planning how best to do that. "I'll see you then. Oh, and the doorman has your key," he added, like an afterthought, though Charles could tell it was very much planned.

His heart still skipped a beat at the thought of having his own key. It rather made things official, even if he hadn't fully moved over all his belongings. There was really nothing he could say in response to that, except, "I love you," because even though he'd said it before, it bore repeating.

Erik was silent for a long minute, Charles exhaling and then holding his breath, going a little light-headed before Erik said, "I love you, too." He sounded positively giddy.

Charles smiled. He wanted to linger; wanted their conversation to last forever. Instead he muttered something about getting back to work, undoubtedly sounding as unenthusiastic as he felt. Erik laughed, but let him go.

Maybe it wouldn't be too bad, he thought as he got his stuff in order, preparing to go help Hank analyse tissue samples. Maybe acquiring the estate would involve long, involved court battles, during which Charles could grow tired of the proceedings and give up--no one would blame him, certainly not Erik. Or maybe there was a special trust set aside for him, a few hundred thousand dollars--not enough to tip the scales, but enough to ease a few financial pressures. Charles let himself believe the idea, even as he worked in the lab, Hank buzzing excitedly, still talking about the success of their presentation and the thrill of the conference. He didn't know about Essex and Charles didn't see fit to tell him.

At 5:30, when Charles began packing up to go home, Hank looked incredulous, frowning like he couldn't fully comprehend what Charles was doing.

"Sorry," Charles said, because Hank undoubtedly wanted to spend the entire night working, "but if it's all right with you, I need an early night." He needed more than an early night. He needed a regular schedule; a standard nine-to-five--as much as someone in his field could do nine-to-five--if only so that he didn't burn out before the year was out. Before Erik he wouldn't have thought of that, but now that he had something outside his career, he found he wanted that balance.

Hank blinked, like the thought had never occurred to him, but eventually he nodded, tidying some of the papers spread across his work station.

"Of course," he said, flailing a little. Charles took pity.

"You're welcome to stay."

Hank relaxed a little, like the idea of leaving was antithesis to his nature--and it was. He immediately moved back to the spectrophotometer. Charles left him to it.

It was somewhat disorienting to get on a bus headed for Erik's apartment--and Erik had walked Charles through the best methods for getting there. Tomorrow he'd try the subway; make a proper comparison. He suspected he'd end up missing his apartment's location--Charles always preferred to walk. Technically it was still there, filled with his furniture and his dishes and his books--he hadn't even given his landlord notice--but the thought of waking up every morning next to Erik was more than worth the hassle of public transportation.

Erik's doorman--their doorman Charles reminded himself--greeted Charles with a smile and a key when he finally arrived. Charles turned the key over in his hand, the metal cool to the touch, like it had been sitting on a counter. He tucked it into his pocketed, nodded his thanks and headed upstairs. He still came damn close to knocking before he remembered and pulled out the key. It fit perfectly into the lock.

"Honey, I'm home," he said as he stepped inside, the scent of cooking touching his nose. Erik glanced up from the stove, turning his head to catch Charles' eye. He smiled, wide and happy. Charles couldn't help but return it, and for a very long time they simply stood like that, staring at each other, wearing matching grins.

It was Raven who interrupted the moment, appearing from down the hall. She glanced at Charles, unsurprised.

"Oh, good, everyone's home; I'm starving," she said, moving to start setting the tiny dining room table. Charles' smile grew wider.

"Home," he said, just under his breath. The door clicked shut behind him as Charles came fully inside.


	18. Chapter 18

_are we  
the sum of  
parts?_

_notions  
rituals  
experience_

_or_

_are we  
something else  
something_

_different?_

_collected  
combined  
carved into  
clay_

_not chipped  
away from  
cold hard  
marble._

[Labels, by Erik Lehnsherr, November 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/536620)

~*~  


Remy LeBeau's office building looked different under the dim light of an overcast sky. There was something almost menacing about it; an impenetrable fortress that loomed, illusion giving it height, its four floors becoming twenty, dwarfing the surrounding high-rises. Charles shivered and pulled his coat tight; turned to stare through a siren logo, into the ground-floor Starbucks, the space awash in sickly yellow light.

They were supposed to change their clocks this weekend. The daylight wouldn't last the week.

"We don't have to do this, you know," Erik said.

He was standing next to Charles on the sidewalk, their cab having long since departed. Charles tugged his collar up, released a breath and stepped forward. Erik moved with him, perfectly in sync, their shoulders brushing as they headed inside. Beyond the doors, the illusion broke, the tiny hallway no more than a hallway; the elevators unassuming sets of dented metal doors.

"This is stupid," Charles said as they rode up to LeBeau's floor. "I should be happy. Most people would be happy."

Erik didn't say anything, but he shifted closer, Charles automatically leaning into his warmth. He didn't pull away, even after they left the elevator, arm coming around Charles' shoulders to keep him close as they navigated the halls.

LeBeau's door was open, the man spilled into his chair, feet propped on his desk, an open file spread across his lap. He glanced up as soon as he heard them, grin spreading across his face. He gestured them inside with a flick of his wrist, swinging his legs off the desk, planting them on the floor and then leaning forward in his chair. Red rimmed eyes watched with excited anticipation as Charles and Erik arranged themselves into the cramped, angular space. LeBeau's office was not designed for three people.

They didn't remove their coats.

"It be good you come," LeBeau said, pushing a bowl of Halloween candy across the desk. Charles declined with a shake of his head. Erik ignored them completely. It was the same bowl from their last visit, and Charles suspected not a single candy had been added or removed since then.

"I'm assuming you've gotten a hold of all the relevant wills and think we have a case," Charles said. There was no other reason he could see for LeBeau to have contacted him. The process from here, he knew, would be long and arduous. Part of him still didn't want to set it in motion.

The chairs set aside for LeBeau's visitors were hard, molded plastic, set side by side so that whenever Charles moved he brushed against Erik. He did so now, more for the reassurance than anything. Erik pressed back and then, after a moment's hesitation, reached down to place a hand on Charles' knee. He squeezed.

Across the desk, LeBeau's smile grew teeth.

"There be no case," he said, and then slid the folder he was holding across the desk. Inside, held together with a large binder clip, was an obvious photocopy of a will. Charles was startled to see his father's name as the testator. Beneath it another document, likely his mother's will, along with Charles' crumpled letter and several envelopes. "The money already be yours, mon ami."

Charles frowned, because that wasn't right. He shook his head. "No, they cut me out."

Erik was watching him--Charles could feel the prickling heat of his gaze--but Charles ignored him in favour of catching LeBeau's eye.

"They cut me out." It somehow felt important to reiterate that fact.

LeBeau's expression shifted, becoming somewhat apologetic. Charles frowned. He finally relented and glanced to Erik, but Erik was now watching LeBeau, expression slightly horrified. Charles glanced down at the table, watching the folder slide away, LeBeau drawing it back across the table.

"This be your father's will," he picked out the document in question, "and aside from a few property here and there, a couple of funds and insurance policies, he leave the entire estate to you, not your mother. Your mother was named trustee, until you turned eighteen, then the balance, including his share in the company, the Westchester property, a New York penthouse, and a London flat, all transfer to you."

He slid across the deeds in question, but Charles could no longer see them. His vision had gone grey and foggy, like he was swimming underwater, sea salt stinging his eyes.

"He leave your mother close to ten mil, but the rest be yours."

"I don't understand. That's not what happened," Charles said. The hand on his knee squeezed a second time. Charles glanced over. Erik's expression reflected horrified comprehension. Something wet and hot trailed down Charles' cheek.

"That not be what they told you happened, but it be what should have happened. I'm sorry, mon ami, but you been played."

He meant fraud, Charles knew, but as soon as the thought occurred to him he was shaking his head. His mother might not have loved him--might not have cared if he existed--but she didn't hate him; she wouldn't have done something like this to him.

"No, you're wrong," Charles said again, because surely there were rules and regulations in place to ensure stuff like this didn't happen. "Wouldn't my father's lawyer have stepped in? Wouldn't they have done something to prevent this? Surely someone was paying attention."

He almost laughed, even as he said it, because he knew how easy it was for things to get lost in the shuffle. There were a lot of years between five and eighteen. Still, he couldn't bring himself to believe his mother would willingly deceive him; would lie to him and hurt him--he'd almost had to drop out of school after she'd cut him off--and for what? Because she wanted to blackmail him into heterosexuality? Or was it worse than that? Had she simply been so overcome by greed that she'd willingly pushed aside her only flesh and blood?

He refused to believe that. If what LeBeau was saying was true, then it was somehow Kurt's doing; not his mother's.

LeBeau was now flipping through several additional documents. He handed across a single page, the name of his father's law firm bolded on the page, but beneath it, a single, familiar name: _Kurt Marko_ was listed as acting lawyer.

"What?" Charles got out before he registered what he was seeing.

According to this, Kurt Marko was his father's lawyer.

"No, he was my father's business colleague," Charles heard himself say, though he wasn't aware of having spoken. His father had left his half of the business to Kurt; that is what Charles had been told. _I promised your father I'd take care of your mother, and you_ , he'd said shortly before marrying Charles' mother, like marrying her was a chore; a promise he'd intended to keep. 

Was it all a lie? How far back did this go?

Oh, God; was Kurt somehow involved in his father's death?

Something ugly settled in Charles' stomach, bile inching its way up his throat until Charles thought he might be sick. The sight of LeBeau's Halloween candy, glaring reds and obnoxious yellows, caused his stomach to lurch, Charles standing abruptly. The chair he'd been sitting in skittered back, only Erik's quick grab saving it from toppling over.

Both Erik and LeBeau were watching him now, LeBeau cautious, like Charles was a startled horse, about to bolt from the room; Erik with rising panic.

"I need," Charles got out, LeBeau moving swiftly to pass across a steel waste basket, Charles immediately clutching it to his chest. He vomited noisily into it.

It was some time before he came back to himself, his vision clearing as the world came back into focus; like the echo of a heartbeat, the din of voices, the mechanical slide of a photocopier, and the incessant honking of traffic all flooded his ears. He became aware of Erik standing at his side, his hand nestled between Charles' shoulder blades.

"You okay?" he asked when Charles glanced up. Charles nodded, Erik taking the basket, setting it on the floor beside the door. He walked Charles back to his chair. LeBeau offered over a packet of Nibs. Charles accepted them gladly. Instead of taking his seat, Erik crouched at his side, one hand braced on Charles' shoulder, the other on Charles' knee.

"Sorry, I..." was as far as he got before LeBeau held up a hand.

"It happens," he said.

Charles nodded. "So what now?"

There were a dozen other questions he wanted to ask, like why his father had trusted Kurt--why he had blindly accepted Kurt's advice, without ever once thinking to question it, but Charles already knew the answer. His mother used to tell him he was exactly like his father, her voice filled with scorn and distaste when she said it. He realized now that part of what she'd meant was that he was too trusting; Charles wouldn't have thought to have questioned a supposed friend's intentions either.

"Now Remy take care of this. We won't be able to recover what was spent, but we can put a stop to the spending and retrieve the assets. We'll have to involve the police, and then we be looking at fraud charges. It not be easy, and it take some time, but Remy will sort it."

Charles gave a stiff nod, and when LeBeau didn't add anything further, he stood, Erik rising gracefully to his feet. He hovered, falling into step at Charles' side when Charles turned to the door. Charles paused next to the waste bin, but LeBeau called out, _No worry, Remy take care of it_ , so Charles left his vomit where it was and strode into the hall. Erik followed like a shadow.

"Charles," he said when they reached the elevators. He sounded so very far away.

Charles turned towards him then, reaching out then to grasp Erik's coat, fingers fumbling with the fabric. Immediately Erik's arms came around him, Charles falling into Erik's solidity, tucking his head beneath Erik's chin.

"If it's all right," Charles pulled back, "I'd like to go home."

Erik nodded, and then guided Charles into the elevators.

~*~

There was no one home when they finally made it back to the apartment--Raven was out with Azazel and wouldn't be home until later. Erik left Charles standing inside the hallway to head into the living room and turn on some lights. When he returned, Charles was still staring at his feet. He hadn't spoken on the cab ride home--and Erik still loved that home now included Charles. Very carefully, he reached out and caressed the side of Charles' face, tilting his jaw up so that he could catch Charles' eye.

"Hey," he said, drawing Charles forward. Charles came willingly, until he was once again standing in the circle of Erik's embrace.

He'd long since dismissed the idea of being able to take care of Charles' financially, but he could take care of Charles like this; offer Charles the comfort he so clearly needed. For the longest time Charles merely rested against him, forehead pressed to Erik's clavicle. Eventually he released a shuddering breath and stepped back, offering a weak smile that didn't quite touch his eyes. Erik reached for Charles' coat.

He undid the buttons, one by one, Charles standing mute before him, watching with trusting, tired eyes. When Erik was finished, he slid the coat off Charles' shoulders, carrying it with him to the closet. He wasn't nearly so careful removing his own.

Charles was still standing where he left him, so Erik slipped his hand in his, Charles' skin still rough from its time in the sling. He pulled, Charles coming willingly, into the living room where he sank gratefully onto the couch, Erik slipping beside him.

"Are you hungry?" Erik asked, partly because they were on their own for dinner tonight, but partly because cooking was something Erik could do for Charles, and now more than anything he wanted to do something; to be given some task that might end in Charles coming back to him.

"Not really," Charles said, leaning into Erik's shoulder, Erik shifting to bring an arm around the back of his neck. Charles sank into his embrace.

The silence that passed between them was by no means tense, but it was awkward, Erik uncertain how best to breach it. The problem was that he didn't know if Charles was upset over the money--if he was worried Erik was upset over the money--or if it was the revelation that the last twelve years of his life were a lie.

"Do you think she knew?" Charles asked, which rather answered the question.

Erik swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. The memories he had of his mother were sparse--though growing in recent weeks--but nowhere in them could he even imagine her doing something like this. It ought to have been impossible; surely a mother's duty was, first and foremost, to her child.

"I doubt it," Erik said, cautious, but honest. "He was probably manipulating her, too." It seemed more likely; from what little Erik had heard of Charles' step-father, the man could easily contend with Sebastian Shaw for asshole of the year.

It was somewhat startling when Charles relaxed, melting into Erik's side, his relief palpable. He ran the back of his hand under his nose then, rubbing against it, sniffing loudly as he did.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, and then let out a little laugh. The sound cut through Erik's chest, half desperate and half hysterical, like it was either laugh or burst into tears and Charles had chosen laughter.

It occurred to Erik that perhaps Charles needed a distraction.

"Stay here," he said, releasing Charles to slip off the couch. Charles sat up a little straighter, looking momentarily confused. Erik held up a finger, waiting for Charles' nod before padding down the hall and into the office. He'd forgotten entirely about the set, something he'd picked up from a street vendor over the weekend, when, in his boredom--and desperation for Charles to come home--he'd let Raven nag him down to the Greenmarket.

He wasn't gone long, but by the time he got back Charles was just coming back from the kitchen, bottle of wine and two glasses in hand. Erik inclined his head, earning a shrug. "We need to stock your kitchen with some proper scotch," Charles said. Erik laughed.

"I tend to prefer martinis."

That earned him a smile, as well as a raised eyebrow, but Erik was more than willing to be made fun of if it improved Charles' mood. He watched as Charles settled on the couch and then set to work uncorking the wine. He didn't glance up until Erik slid down beside him, handing over the folded wooden box. Even without opening it, it was obvious to see it was a [travel chess set](http://www.nekosmuse.com/chess.jpg). Charles' eyes grew wide.

"I promised to teach you my moves," Erik said, remembering back to that day in the park, Charles still off limits; the way Charles had leaned into him, chasing a kiss that Erik wished now he'd let happen.

Charles' eyes lit up. He grinned. "Oh, Erik," he said, and then, "I am going to kick your ass."

Erik couldn't help but laugh at that, even as he retrieved the set from Charles' hands and began setting up the board.

"We'll have to buy a nicer set, once we have a bigger place with more room," he said, registering then that it was the first time he'd mentioned getting a bigger place. He glanced over to find Charles watching him with a soft smile on his face.

"Not too much bigger," he said. "I like it here. It's cozy."

It was Erik realized, though he knew eventually they'd end up stepping on each other's toes; he'd prefer to avoid that before it happened. Rather than say as much--rather than ask after Charles' supposed New York penthouse--he leaned back, gestured to the board, and said, "Your move, genius." It earned him another of Charles' genuine smiles.

They played--two matches, because Charles lost the first and demanded a re-match. After he lost the second time--and Erik had tried to let him win, but Charles had called him on it, so there was little Erik could do save up his game--he conceded defeat, promising to brush up on his strategy.

"I fully intend to trounce you next time," he said, and Erik believed him; he really did. He suspected there was nothing Charles couldn't do if he set his mind to it. Charles was easily the most determined person he had ever met--except perhaps Raven, but Raven had always hated chess.

"Do you feel like eating?" Erik asked, after they'd drained the wine, mind foggy after so much alcohol on so little food. He hadn't eaten since lunch. Charles, who was nestled against Erik's chest, grunted something that might have been a yes, or might have been a no, so Erik reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. He ordered them Thai.

He tossed his Blackberry onto the coffee table when he was done. It collided with the chess set, knocking over Charles' king. Erik watched the piece fall; it rolled off the board and onto the table, rocking back and forth until it came to rest next to Charles' empty wine glass. Warm breath ghosted over his neck.

It was somewhat surprising to try tilting his head only to find he was unable to move, Charles' nose pressed against the underside of Erik's jaw. He nuzzled forward, lips dragging across the scruff of Erik's neck. Erik arched into the sensation, letting out a strangled little moan at the feel of Charles' tongue. Charles chuckled.

"I just ordered food," Erik said, though he made no move to pull away. Charles scrapped his teeth across Erik's Adam's apple, the sensation eliciting a shiver.

"I don't care," Charles mumbled into Erik's skin. His hands had come to Erik's shoulders, but rather than drag him forward--something Erik now expected, Charles seeming to enjoy being trapped beneath his weight--Charles pushed him back, until he was trapped against the couch, Charles sliding immediately onto his lap, until he was straddling Erik's knees, the position changing their heights, so that now Charles loomed above him. Erik shivered again for an entirely different reason.

There was something desperate--and just a little bit vicious--in the way Charles was mouthing Erik's neck. He was using his teeth more than he usually did--Charles was usually so very, very gentle. Not that Erik was complaining; he liked it, a good deal in fact, but it was somewhat surprising, especially given how languid and relaxed Charles had been during their chess match.

Charles had reached Erik's ear; had taken the lobe into his mouth and was sucking noisily on it. He released it with a wet pop, shifting forward to brush his lips against the shell of Erik's ear. "She would have hated this, you know," he said. It took Erik's lust-addled brain several minutes to catch up with the conversation, during which Charles added, "It would have killed her to know that I'd fallen in love with you; that I intended to spend the rest of my life with you."

He shifted then to nip at the tip of Erik's ear, nose nuzzling into Erik's hair, even as Erik processed the sudden change in topic. He wasn't sure what to focus on first; the fact that Charles wanted to discuss his mother while they were having sex, or the fact that Charles had just offered to spend the rest of his life with Erik.

The latter won out, Erik smiling broadly, grin stretching across his face until it physically hurt; and even then he kept smiling.

He had no idea if his mother would have liked Charles--but of course she would have; who didn't like Charles?--or even if she would have accepted Erik's homosexuality. It wasn't something he thought of often--being gay--it was just something he was, in the same way that he was a non-practicing German Jew or a poet or a professor. None of it described who he was; they were only labels, things Erik had left behind the moment his parents had died.

"Come here," he said, drawing Charles away from his neck. He maneuvered him until he could seal their lips together, kissing Charles like he'd spent a lifetime waiting to do so--and in so many ways he had--trying to convey everything he felt through that single kiss.

Charles responded with enthusiasm, kissing Erik back like there was nothing he'd rather be doing. He nipped at Erik's lips, tongue snaking its way inside, body pressing against Erik's until Erik was trapped against the couch. They had at best twenty minutes before their food arrived, but Erik suspected the buzzer was going to go unanswered. Charles seemed intent on having sex--food or no food--and Erik was starting to think this was more than just a wave of sudden horniness.

It still somewhat amazed him how quickly he was able recognize Charles' moods.

He did his best to distract Charles from whatever it was Charles was running from--Charles sought comfort and distraction from sex in the same way Erik did from running, so Erik, at the core of it, understood this. It made him a little uncertain about boundaries, but if this was what Charles needed, then Erik was more than willing to provide. Besides, it was hard not to get swept up in the kiss; hard not to grow aroused beneath Charles' wandering hands, Charles firm and insistent, tugging at Erik's shirt like if it didn't remove itself immediately, Charles intended to rip it from Erik's body.

"Easy," Erik said, pulling back. He ignored Charles' huff of impatience, pulling the shirt over his head, tossing it past Charles where it landed on the floor with a soft thud. Charles' hands came immediately to his chest. He traced fingertips over Erik's chest, then up to his shoulders and down his arms.

"I tried, you know," he said, sounding distant. Erik hummed his confusion, already working on the buttons of Charles' shirt, fumbling slightly when Charles began tracing light patterns inside the crook of Erik's elbow. "To find women attractive. I thought, maybe, if I met the right woman, it would work for me, and then maybe she'd love me." He laughed then, dismissing the statement, but Erik didn't miss the slight hitch in his breathing. "They're pretty," he said with a shrug. "Aesthetically, they're pretty, but I never wanted to fuck them. She didn't even thank me for trying."

Erik freed the last of Charles' buttons, letting his shirt drape open, hands slipping inside to settle against his hips. Charles curled into the sensation, leaning forward until their chests were flush. His eyes fell closed. Erik had no idea what to say to anything Charles had just told him, so he remained silent, tilting his head to grant Charles access, Charles once again mouthing at Erik's neck.

There was something in the glide of his hands across Erik's torso--soft and reverent, yet desperate and needy--that told Erik the opposite was true of men; or at least, Erik. Charles traced absent patterns against the hard lines of Erik's chest; the firm expanse of his abs, fingers curling around Erik's biceps. He didn't put a lot of work into his physique, but running kept him lean, his metabolism doing the rest. Whatever it was, Charles seemed to approve, touching now like he fully intended to memorize every inch of him.

He was biting at Erik's jaw now, occasionally tilting his face to run his cheek along Erik's scruff. Eventually he made it back to Erik's ear, again tracing its shell with his nose, Erik half expecting another mother-related confession. Instead Charles said, "Can I fuck you? I think I'd like to fuck you," like Erik would ever refuse such a thing.

He nodded, and then, when Charles made no move to pull away, said, simply, "Yes."

Charles sagged against him--though with relief or something else, Erik didn't know. He pulled back after a moment, catching Erik's eye before issuing a firm command to stay put. He slipped from Erik's lap then, practically dashing down the hall and into the bedroom--their bedroom--Erik picturing Charles going straight for the medicine cabinet, where they kept the condoms and lube. While he was gone, Erik checked his watch, gave up their delivery as a lost cause--they'd have to re-order, and get charged double for their trouble--and then quickly stood to shuck off his clothes.

If Charles wanted to fuck him on the couch, who was he to complain? So long as they cracked a window and cleaned off any stains, Raven would never know.

Charles returned, condoms and lube in hand, panting somewhat as he skidded to a stop in front of the coffee table, eyes growing wide when he registered Erik's nakedness. He had a towel draped over his shoulder that he took off now and tossed onto the couch. He [licked his lips](http://www.nekosmuse.com/tongue.jpg) and then stepped forward, setting the condoms and lube down on the table, before skirting around it, already letting his shirt slip over his shoulders as he settled next to Erik's slid. He ran a hand up Erik's leg, fingers brushing against Erik's inner thigh.

"Is here okay?" he asked.

Erik nodded, and then, because he wasn't entirely certain, asked, "Where do you want me?"

Charles paused then, catching Erik's eye, expression searching. He must have found what he was looking for, because he nodded, and then grabbed Erik's hand, tugging until Erik took the hint and allowed Charles to maneuver him over the edge of the couch. Charles ran a firm hand over Erik's ass, Erik twisting to glance over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow because he was fairly certain Charles had just petted him.

"Sorry, you just have a really fantastic ass," Charles said, laughing then, a little nervous, which was so unlike him that Erik instantly relaxed, no longer feeling like he was playing some strange part in a ritual Charles seemed bent on acting out.

"You like it," he said, wiggling his hips a little, which caused Charles to laugh outright--otherwise Erik might have been mortified by the action.

"I like it," Charles said, and then, without warning he climbed onto the couch, leaned forward and bit one of Erik's cheeks.

Erik cursed, and then surged forward, away from the hurt. Charles chased him, soothing the stinging with his tongue, Erik instantly forgiving him for it; forgetting it entirely when Charles' tongue traced across Erik's cheek. He'd showered this morning, but that was a long time ago now, Erik trying to shy away, but Charles seemed determined, hands coming up to hold Erik in place, fingers curling around the front of Erik's hips even as his thumbs pulled at the sides of Erik's ass, cheeks spreading under the pressure.

Charles nosed his way inside.

They'd done this several times now--and every time it was overwhelming, but he still loved it. He loved it now, especially when Charles emitted a tiny growl, like licking Erik's asshole was the best thing he'd done all day. It was still a long time before Erik relaxed into the sensation, body clenched tight while Charles tried to press his tongue inside. When it eventually breached, Erik immediately rocked back into the sensation, feeling incredibly desperate; and incredibly alarmed by how fast he'd become so desperate.

It was almost a shame that was the moment their food chose to arrive.

"Ignore it," Erik said at the sound of the buzzer. Charles chuckled, the sound vibrating through him-- straight to his dick like Charles laughing with his tongue in Erik's ass was enough to make him come. It wouldn't have surprised him if it had.

Erik was vaguely embarrassed by the disappointed moan that passed his lips when Charles withdrew.

"I'm still not hungry anyway," Charles said.

He reached for the lube on the coffee table then, the buzzer ringing a second time before it fell blissfully silent. Erik turned to stare over his shoulder, watching as Charles coated two fingers, Charles glancing up to catch Erik's eye before bringing them to Erik's hole. Erik gave a brief nod.

Charles didn't hesitate. He simply pushed, two fingers sliding inside, Erik grunting at the intrusion.

The burn of it faded away soon enough, becoming a steady pressure that sparked pleasure in some distant part of his brain. He screwed himself down onto Charles' fingers, earning a hum of approval that made him feel all the more wanton for the attention. Charles took his time stretching him, thrusting his fingers in and out, eventually adding a third, scissoring them now. When Erik glanced back over his shoulder, he found Charles intent on his task; eyes wide, pupils blow, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Erik moaned, which seemed to be Charles' cue to withdraw his fingers.

He pulled them out with a wet pop, and then reached for the box of condoms on the table. Erik released a breath, shifting against the awkward slick of the lubricant. He turned again to glance over his shoulder when he heard Charles' belt.

He'd forgotten Charles was still wearing pants. The sudden image of Charles behind him, half dressed, fingers buried in Erik's ass, made Erik flush all over with heat and something he thought might be shame--though it certainly felt much more pleasant. His skin felt oversensitive, like a single touch might set him off, Erik in danger of coming against the couch's arm long before Charles slid inside.

He balanced himself on one arm to reach between his legs and squeeze the base of his cock. It did little to ease his arousal; especially not once Charles settled behind him, condom covered cock brushing against his hole. The feel of Charles' pants brushing against the backs of his legs was enough to startle a moan.

When Charles' hands settled around his hips, Erik immediately thrust back, Charles slipping against him, missing him entirely, brushing against the backside of Erik's balls. "Easy," Charles said, an exact mirror of how they'd started this, so Erik chuckled--a little desperate sounding he was sure--and waited patiently for Charles to line up and then slip the head inside.

Erik immediately lost his patience. He slid back even as Charles inched forward, Charles hissing at the sudden movement, going deeper than he'd obviously intended, because the grip on Erik's hips tightened perceptibly.

He bit off a curse, holding Erik tight until whatever was stopping him subsided; then he released his death-grip, hands smoothing down the line of Erik's hip as he shifted forward, bottoming out, body pressed tight against the curve of Erik's ass.

"Okay?" he asked.

Erik was tempted to simply nod, but instead he got out, "Yeah," which seemed to be all Charles was waiting for, because he immediately pulled back and then thrust forward.

The force of it stole Erik's breath, but Charles didn't give him a chance to catch it, pulling back again, only to thrust forward. There was something ruthless in the snap of Charles' hips--and to Erik's surprise he found himself getting caught up in it. Charles was usually so careful, so precise; it was as startling as it was arousing to have Charles give in to his need; to have him pound into Erik like Erik was the only thing tethering Charles to the ground.

It didn't last particularly long, Charles building a rhythm that didn't allow Erik to catch his breath, driving in and out with abandon, fingers curled around Erik's hip bones, holding him firmly in place as Charles fucked him against the side of the couch. Too soon he was stuttering, thrusts becoming erratic jerks that did nothing to push Erik over the edge on which he was teetering so precariously. He moaned and jerked back, wanting more contact, more pressure, more everything. Charles let out a particularly loud curse, hips pressing forward so hard it drove his cock deep inside, nothing between them save a thin piece of latex--and even that Erik wanted gone.

Another two thrusts and Charles trembled against him; his entire body going taut, shaking uncontrollably as he rode out his orgasm. When it was over, he sagged forward with relief, driving a little deeper, Erik in his desperation immediately pushing back.

It seemed to get Charles' attention, because he immediately tensed, and then, careful to remain seated inside, reached around to wrap a hand around Erik's cock. Erik almost sobbed with relief.

"Sorry, sorry," Charles was saying, but Erik shook his head, the apology not needed, Charles' hand, still slippery with lube, sliding easily against Erik's dick.

It wasn't long before Erik was coming, a couple twists of Charles' wrist and Erik was undone, Charles catching what he could, keeping most of it from the couch. Charles waited until the last of the aftershocks were over before removing his hand. He reached for the towel, wiping away Erik's come before carefully setting his hands on Erik's hips. Slowly, he withdrew. Erik whimpered at the loss.

"I'm so sorry," Charles said, ignoring the condom and their nakedness to pull Erik to him, Erik shifting back so that he was seated half on the couch, half sprawled across Charles' lap, Charles already nuzzling into his neck. "I'm so sorry," he said again.

"For what?" Erik asked, because he honestly didn't know."

Charles pressed a kiss to the juncture between Erik's neck and his shoulder. "I didn't mean to be so selfish."

And was that what Charles was worried about? Erik shook his head.

"You told me once I could take what I needed from you in bed. Why wouldn't the same be true for you?" he asked.

For a long time Charles didn't say anything; he merely clung to Erik, pulling Erik impossibly close as he breathed against the side of Erik's neck. It was some time before he spoke, and when he did, it was to say the last thing Erik was expecting him to say.

"My mom died, Erik."

There was very little he could say in response to that, so Erik drew Charles close, wrapping his arms around him until there was nothing between them; not even a sliver of space.

They stayed that way for a long time, Charles' chest hitching every so often, until the hour grew late enough that Erik began worrying about Raven--she'd kill him if she came home and found them like this on her couch. Fortunately, before he could suggest moving to the bedroom--perhaps pausing for showers--Charles' stomach growled. Erik pulled back and glanced between them. He caught Charles' eye. Charles, whose eyes were red-rimmed, wet tracks tracing lines down his cheeks, shrugged somewhat sheepishly.

"I think I might be hungry now," he said. Erik chuckled.

"Let's get cleaned up, and re-order our food," he said.

The smile Charles gave him was oddly grateful, though Erik wasn't entirely certain what he'd done. He supposed it probably didn't matter, so long as he'd done it.


	19. Chapter 19

_two can  
become_

_one._

_in time_

_with  
patience  
perseverance  
practice_

_open wounds  
healed_

_by another_

_presence enough_

_to soothe  
the old_

[One, by Erik Lehnsherr, November, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/543508)

~*~  


Erik was a warm weight against his back, his arm slung over Charles' waist, pulling Charles close, even in his sleep. This was the man Charles was going to wake up next to every day for the rest of his life. It was a comforting thought; one that lodged in his chest until he thought it might burst; spring forth as pure giddiness. Charles smiled, even though it hurt to do so.

It seemed fitting that Erik would inspire such contradictory emotions.

Erik showed no signs of waking; they'd stayed up late, eating Thai take-away that had cost a minor fortune, and then curling into the middle of Erik's--no, their--bed, Charles feeling the sudden urge to talk about his mother, so he had. Erik had listened, patient and understanding, but the experience had left Charles raw; stretched thin in a way only his mother ever made him feel.

He'd told Erik the story of her first visit to Oxford, how he'd have thought the city with her grand architecture and quaint shops would have appeased her; of how she'd only complained of the weather, the dreadful damp doing terrible things to her complexion. It marked the first time Charles had realized--truly realized--that he was never going to make her happy. He'd given up trying after that.

He wished he could have met Erik's mother. When Erik spoke of her, she sounded flawless; the exact sort of person Charles had always wanted for a parent. Erik had claimed his memories coloured by tragedy, insisting that if she'd lived his opinion would undoubtedly be changed, that only her passing had earned her her pedestal.

Would Charles have idealized his mother if she had died in place of his father? Certainly he thought his father free from sin, which was patently ridiculous, because the man had committed suicide, a cowardly act of abandonment.

Kurt Marko didn't bear thinking of.

Pressure on his bladder was making it impossible for Charles to lounge in the bed, even though that was precisely what he wanted to do; he wanted to burrow beneath the covers and never come out. He was entitled, he knew, to bereavement leave--could take the time off if he wanted to--but he was fairly certain it wasn't his mother's death inspiring his sudden laziness.

It took some effort to slip out from beneath Erik's grasp, Erik grunting, frowning in his sleep as Charles wiggled his way free. He stood on shaky legs, running a hand through his hair before glancing back, taking in [the sleep-creased lines of Erik's face](http://www.nekosmuse.com/sleep.gif). Something clenched inside Charles' chest.

The sensation was relatively new. Unlike lust, or infatuation, or even obsession, all of which Charles had experienced at various points in his life; this was love. It was almost painful to tear his gaze away from Erik; to force himself to walk towards the tiny green and blue bathroom. He couldn't bring himself to close the door as he pissed. The sound was startlingly loud in the quiet of pre-dawn.

When he got back to the bed, Erik was awake, propped on an elbow, staring at Charles with an arched eyebrow. Charles coloured, but refused to give in to his embarrassment. He returned the gesture, Erik laughing, bright and happy.

"So we've reached that part of our relationship, have we?" he said.

Charles smirked. "It would appear so, though if it's all the same to you, can we skip farting in each other's company?"

His statement was met with a grin, Erik immediately reaching for him, drawing him down onto the mattress, shifting so that Charles was pinned beneath his weight.

"I do have to get into the lab today," Charles said, but he made no move to extract himself. Erik ignored him in favour of burying his face in Charles' neck. "And you, if I recall correctly, have a class to teach."

As protests went, it was rather feeble. Erik responded with a sympathetic murmur, but he didn't pull away, mouthing Charles' neck like he never intended to stop, tongue rasping over Charles' stubble.

"I'm serious," Charles tried, hating that it was necessary.

There was obvious reluctance in the line of Erik's posture as he pulled back, pout tugging at his lips. Charles let his eyes grow wide, even as he raised a pointed eyebrow. Erik laughed.

"I was hoping that would work, but you're right," he said, and then, "Shower?"

It seemed Erik was determined to have sex, schedule or no schedule, and who was Charles to deny him? He rolled his eyes before letting his mouth creep up into a smirk, Erik's expression instantly shifting from sulking to eager. Charles laughed, and then shooed Erik out of the bed.

It was somewhat amusing to watch Erik practically spring from the mattress, already reaching out a hand, pulling Charles to his feet the second Charles entangled their fingers. To Charles' surprise, Erik led them into his ensuite washroom with the tiny cubical shower, rather than the main bathroom with its extra-large tub. It made sense, given that Raven would undoubtedly be up in short order and might have need of the larger washroom, but Charles still had his doubts about the both of them fitting into the space.

Erik had a plan, apparently, because as soon as Charles shucked off his briefs, Erik pulled him into the shower, pressing them together--perfect for what Erik undoubtedly had in mind, though completely pointless for getting them clean. Charles chuckled, flinching slightly when Erik started the spray, the water cold to the point of freezing. Erik turned them so that the spray was at his back, keeping Charles out of it until it had warmed up. Charles shook his head at that, but couldn't help the soft smile that pulled at his lips. He tucked his head under Erik's chin.

"I don't think this shower was made for two people," he said. Erik hummed.

"When we look for a bigger place, we'll make sure it has a bigger shower." He ran his hands down the length of Charles' spine, hands coming to curl around Charles' ass, pulling Charles close. The hard line of his cock pressed into Charles' stomach. He turned them so that Charles was under the warmth of the spray, Erik's skin pebbled with gooseflesh, but he seemed intent on ignoring the cold, concentrating on wetting Charles' hair even as he slid their bodies together.

It wasn't surprising to discover that Erik actually intended to combine showering with sex. When he reached for the shampoo, Charles chuckled, ducking his head out from beneath the spray so that Erik could lather his hair. He shifted them to the side while Erik worked, letting water trail over both their shoulders, and then reached for the soap.

He supposed it was team work; Erik concentrating on Charles' hair, Charles running soap covered fingers over Erik's chest, then down the line of his stomach until he'd taken Erik in hand. Erik hissed, fingers catching in Charles' hair--a little too sharply--pulling Charles' head back so that he could angle in for a kiss. Shampoo streamed into Charles' eyes, stinging, but he ignored it, letting Erik deepen the kiss, the force of it pushing Charles back, until he was once again under the water. He had to close his eyes against the deluge of suds; almost as soon as he had one of Erik's hands dropped to wrap around his erection, hand slippery with left over lather. Charles thrust into Erik's grip.

They were going to be late. Or rather, Erik was going to be late; Charles didn't precisely have a schedule now that he didn't have to rush to make it to Erik's poetry class. Charles couldn't bring himself to mind, and Erik didn't look like he was complaining, hand now palming Charles' balls as he backed Charles up against the wall. The hand not currently fondling Charles's testicles came around to grab at his ass, Erik lifting up, Charles immediately taking the hint and allowing Erik to prop him up against the wall, Charles' legs coming around Erik's hips to hold him in place. The new position brought their cocks into alignment, Charles groaning at the sensation.

"This okay?" Erik still asked, sounding a little breathless. He brought his other hand to grip Charles' other cheek, keeping Charles close. He was smiling; looking inordinately pleased with himself, like he ought to win an award for the maneuver. Charles grinned.

"Definitely."

After last night, it was nice to return to something light and playful--Charles missed it, he really, really did. Erik was grinning like a madman as he thrust forward, into the circle of Charles' hand, wrapped loosely around them.

They didn't last long, Erik determined to get them to the finish line as soon as possible--this, Charles realized, was his version of a quickie. His thrusts were relentless, bodies sliding together, slick with water and the few remaining traces of shampoo. How he managed to keep his footing, Charles didn't know, but not once did Charles feel in danger of falling, Erik's grip tight and secure, like he could have held Charles there for an eternity. Everything else faded away--his mother's death, his step-father's betrayal, his encounter with Essex--all of it washed clean by the spray, left to trickle down the drain alongside soap suds and the odd pubic hair.

It was Erik's hands, gripping tight to Charles' ass, fingers sliding into his crack that sent him over the edge. He tightened his legs, crushing Erik between them, Erik groaning, thrusting frantically into the circle of Charles' hand before he too came, hot and white between them.

He slumped forward then, Charles unravelling his legs, Erik waiting until Charles had his feet under him to release his grip on Charles' ass--and only after he'd given each cheek a firm squeeze. Charles laughed.

"We're really going to be late, you know," he said.

Erik's smile was as bright as it was sincere. "Worth it, though," he said, ducking his head under the spray and reaching for the shampoo.

The bus, Charles later discovered, after they'd showered and eaten and gotten out the door, was by far the easier method for getting to the school. He got off with Erik near the main campus, Erik already ten minutes late, but he lingered through their kiss goodbye, asking again if Charles still intended to come to his appointment this afternoon. Charles agreed--he wouldn't have missed it for the world--which earned him another kiss, slow and lingering until Erik reluctantly pulled away.

"I have to..." he said, gesturing over his shoulder towards Hamilton Hall. Charles nodded and after a moment of hesitation, Erik turned away, stride purposeful as he crossed the campus lawn towards his building.

The shuttle to Hammer was a little more complicated, but only because Charles had missed the last one by four minutes, so instead of waiting out in the cold, Charles walked to Brownie's for a second dose of caffeine, the cup Erik had poured him already wearing off. The campus was remarkably quiet; the lull between midterms and Thanksgiving break tended to see students either sleeping or locked inside classrooms.

He carried his coffee--black, his stomach still settling after Erik's breakfast, Charles not quite used to being fed so extravagantly in the mornings--back to the shuttle stop, appreciating the stillness, even if the air was brisk with approaching winter. It was too early for snow--if they got it at all--but had the sky held rain, it would have undoubtedly been cold and sleet-like, a frozen promise of the winter to come. As it was the sky was clear, pale morning sunlight slanting off the surrounding buildings so that they gleamed; yellow and white in place of winter's usual grey.

Hammer, when he finally arrived, was bustling, Charles arriving amidst a shift change, having to fight his way off the shuttle bus as people going in the other direction crowded on. Feeling suddenly anxious, Charles picked up his pace, oddly aware of how quickly the hour crept forward.

He wasn't exactly in a hurry, but he was moving with intent now, navigating Hammer like it was an obstacle course he was determined to beat. When he finally spilled off the elevator, it was only to run smack first into Moira, who was obviously waiting to get on. The file folder in her hands exploded, papers flying everywhere. They scattered across the floor, half in the hall, half in the elevator, Charles cursing as he tried to catch the few still drifting through the air.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Charles got out, because he was fairly certain there was a special place in hell--not that he believed in such a thing--for people who bowled over pregnant women.

"You're kidding, right?" Moira said, taking in the mess of papers, but Charles was already kneeling, body keeping the elevator doors from sliding shut as he swept the papers into tidy piles.

If the way Moira was watching him was any indication--eyes wide, frown tugging at her lips, brow furrowed--he was getting their order completely wrong.

"My profound apologies," he said, standing with the wayward pages. He handed them over, Moira wrinkling her nose as she accepted them.

"It's nine-thirty, I thought you weren't coming in," she said, which was her way of scolding him for being late--and honestly, he owed her so much for these past few months.

Charles offered his best apologetic smile, which Moira accepted with a fond but exasperated shake of her head. The elevator had vanished by this point, but instead of calling it back, Moira gestured Charles towards his office, falling into step at his side as they continued the journey together.

"I'd actually just dropped off your invitation," she said, waiting for Charles to get his office door open before gesturing down, a glossy white envelope lying on the floor where it had been tucked under the door. Charles bent down to scoop it up.

"That was fast."

Moira made a non-committal sound that Charles immediately interpreted as _Yes, and it cost me a fortune_. He offered her a grin.

"I might have neglected to mention this, but barring a few technicalities, I am now an obscenely wealthy man, and since you've been putting up with me for years, the least I can do is help you pay for your wedding."

Moira's eyes grew wide. Too late Charles realized what he'd said. He felt himself flush, even as he shot Moira his best pleading expression--a bid for her to ignore the statement. He should have known it wouldn't work.

"You saw your lawyer then. He thinks you have a case?"

There was no getting out of the conversation now, so Charles gestured her inside, pointing to the couch as he crossed to his desk. He set down his messenger bag, and what was left of his coffee--the bitter dregs he had no intention of finishing--and retrieved a letter opener. He slid it under the envelope's flap, tearing the paper open, sliding out a remarkably [simply invitation](http://www.nekosmuse.com/invite.jpg). Without thinking, he withdrew the RRSP card, checked off attending and plus one, and then handed the card back to Moira.

"You sent one to Erik's sister, right?" he asked, well aware that he was avoiding the subject. Moira hadn't technically met Raven yet, but when Charles had breached the idea of Raven doing Moira's make-up, Raven had seemed keen on the idea.

"I did," Moira said, tucking the RRSP into the file folder, "But that doesn't answer my question."

Charles grimaced. "Yes, I saw my lawyer. And there's no case. There never was. The money was always mine."

He was somewhat surprised he managed to get that out. Charles exhaled, a little shakily he thought, but Moira didn't seem to notice; she was busy staring at him, eyes wide, not quite having made the connection but shocked all the same. Charles gave her a minute. Her expression fell.

"How long?" she asked.

"The estate transferred to me on my eighteenth birthday."

Last night, after Erik had fallen asleep; after Charles had spent the better part of an hour watching him stretched against the sheets, he'd told himself that it was probably for the best. Had the money actually gone to him at that point he would have undoubtedly squandered it on booze and men. Perhaps his mother had been doing him a favour.

"Your mother..." was as far as Moira got before Charles held up a hand.

"It wasn't her. She didn't know. It turns out Kurt was actually my father's lawyer. He orchestrated the entire thing."

Moira looked skeptical, but Charles ignored her--he didn't want to consider the possibility that he was wrong, and besides, no mother would do that to a child, no matter how much of a disappointment he was.

"Okay," Moira said, standing then. She stepped into Charles' space and for one brief, hysterical moment, Charles thought she might hug him. Instead, she patted his arm, and then turned towards the door. "Sorry, I do actually have work to do, but if you need me for anything..." She left the rest unsaid, but Charles understood what she meant, just as she undoubtedly understood that Charles had Erik now, just as she had Sean.

"I'm fine, really." He gestured her out the door with a flick of his wrist, Moira shaking her head as she left. He waited until she had vanished down the hall to let his shoulders slump forward, Charles releasing a breath as he glanced down at Moira's invitation.

She'd fight him, but he knew her well enough to know that he would win. Like it or not, the first thing Charles was going to spend his newfound money on was Moira's wedding.

~*~

Erik drummed his fingers against the surface of his desk. He glanced at his Blackberry, checking the time. It was close enough to the hour that Charles should be arriving imminently. Erik dropped his phone back onto the desk, dull thud echoing through the room. Janos, who was marking papers in the corner, glanced up at the sound.

"I have that appointment, so you might as well go home," Erik said.

Janos, who knew him well, immediately stood and began packing away his things. He paused only briefly, sparing Erik a second glance, a question obviously on his tongue, but he seemed to decide against it, slipping out the door without a single word.

It was one of the things Erik liked about Janos, actually; the fact that he didn't waste time talking. That and he was very good at reading Erik's moods. He'd commented once, back in Germany--and not directly to Erik--that Erik's moods changed quicker than the weather, and that if he wasn't on his toes he'd end up caught in a thunderstorm. Erik had enjoyed clearing his throat then, Janos jumping, turning from the girl he'd been chatting up, chagrined expression almost enough to displace Erik's annoyance.

He'd still made Janos mark an extra set of papers.

With Janos gone, and Charles still not yet arrived, Erik wasn't entirely certain what to do with himself. He stood, circling around his desk to stand before his bookshelf. It hadn't changed since the term started, save for the empty space where his binder of poetry used to sit. Erik smiled, wondering where Charles would keep them once they'd finished bringing the remainder of his possessions over to the apartment.

He'd already arranged a truck--that was his first order of business after class--but that wasn't why he was eager for Charles' arrival. Erik ran a finger through the dust on the shelf, thinking then of Charles' reaction when he told him the news. At the very least it was one worry out of the way.

Familiar footsteps drew his attention--and Erik liked that he could recognize Charles' steps--Erik turning to find Charles standing in the doorway. He looked a little breathless, cheeks kissed by cold, eyes bright with anticipation. Erik offered a smile.

"Hey," Charles said, slipping into the room, moving immediately into Erik's space so that it was exceptionally easy to sweep him into a hug, Erik bending down to steal a kiss.

When he pulled back, Charles' eyes were a little glazed; his lips shiny and red.

"I have good news," Erik said, smiling when Charles shook himself a little. He stepped back, clearly needing the space. Erik waited until his expression cleared to say, "I spoke with Professor Summers today and apparently I should have an offer of full time employment next week."

He still felt marginally guilty about the way he'd scowled at Summers, Erik demanding to know what he wanted before Summers explained that he was just there to give Erik a head's up. Erik had apologized--reluctantly--and then offered his thanks, earning a shake of Summers' head for his trouble.

"That's fantastic," Charles said, once again crowding into Erik's space. He stood up on tiptoes to press their lips together, kissing Erik breathless this time. When he pulled back, he was smiling fondly, obviously pleased by Erik's plans for permanent relocation.

"I also rented us a truck for this weekend," Erik said without thinking. Charles' eyes grew wide.

"I thought we were finding a bigger place?"

It was a reasonable question, but so long as Charles still had stuff at his apartment, there was a chance he would leave Erik's. At least this way, while they looked, Charles would have incentive to stay.

Not that Erik could say something like that; not out loud, anyway, and certainly not to Charles. Instead he smiled sheepishly.

"I just thought you might want some of your stuff while we looked."

Charles had tilted his head and was watching Erik closely, smile ghosting across his face. He nodded, like Erik's argument made a good deal of sense--and Erik congratulated himself, he really did. When he finally stepped back, it was to offer Erik a hand.

"We're going to be late," he said. "Again."

Erik chuckled, but he let Charles tug him forward, Erik pausing only long enough to slip into his coat and gather his things, and then they were out the door.

It hadn't really struck him until now, exactly where they were going and what they were doing. His stomach fluttered nervously at the thought of introducing Charles to Dr. Frost--or rather, Dr. Frost to Charles. He'd reconsidered the idea a dozen times since asking Charles, and he was reconsidering it now. Only Charles' steady presence, shoulder brushing occasionally against Erik's as they walked, kept him from changing his mind.

It didn't take long to get to Dr. Frost's office, but for some reason today the trip seemed endless. On the subway Erik sat, staring straight ahead, Charles nestled beside him, the silence between them somewhat heavy. He had to release a shuddering breath when they arrived at the stop, Charles following him off the train and onto the platform.

"I can always wait outside," Charles offered, misreading Erik's nervousness for reluctance. Erik shook his head.

"I want you there," he said, wanting then to explain how much this meant to him; how worried he was that after today Charles would find him wanting. Charles didn't say anything, but he crowded close, keeping to Erik's side as they ascended from the subway and began the walk to Dr. Frost's office.

~*~

_Dr. Frost Interlude_

She left her door ajar for a reason, Angel having been sent out to run errands, so it wasn't a surprise when two voices filtered in through the crack. She recognized the first as Erik, his deep timbre strangely nervous, yet infinitely fond in a way she hadn't heard before--not even when he spoke of Charles or Raven. Light, almost musical laughter followed whatever Erik had said, Erik chuckling in response, sounding lighter--happier--than Emma was used to. She found herself smiling, feeling immensely reassured by Erik's relationship. Sometimes it took outside observation--those moments when people didn't know they were under the microscope--to truly get a feel for someone's character.

 _You do realize I am unaccountably nervous_ , the second voice--Charles, who else could it be?--said.

_She's my shrink, not my mother. If she doesn't like you, I'll fire her and find someone who does._

It was such a typical Erik thing to say that Emma chuckled--just under her breath, there was no point letting them know she was listening.

She gave them a few minutes to get sorted, and then stood from her desk, crossed the room and opened the door.

Erik stood as soon as he saw her, looking like a school kid expecting to be scolded for fighting on the playground. Charles--and she recognized him immediately, having seen several pictures over the years, mostly in tabloids--rose gracefully to his feet, confident smile settling over his face. Had she not overheard his worry, she wouldn't have thought him nervous at all.

That was interesting.

"Please, come in," she said, gesturing them inside. Once they were through the door, she extended a hand. "And you must be Charles. I'm Dr. Frost. It's a pleasure."

Charles' handshake was firm and polished--the kind of handshake politicians and diplomats gave. His smile seemed genuine, though; and Emma was trained to look for such things.

"Likewise," he said.

Emma waited then, letting Erik decide where today's session would be held. He eventually nodded Charles towards the couch, choosing a seat just left of the middle, so that Charles could claim a space immediately at his right. Emma made a mental note to write _potential codependency_ in Erik's file.

Not that she found the concept troubling--in fact she'd expected it--but it had the potential for problems down the line. For now she was content to leave it, though before the session was out she resolved to broach the topic of couples' counselling.

It was interesting watching Charles settle at Erik's side. He still seemed entirely poised, yet he tilted his body towards Erik and sat far closer than was strictly necessary; aside from that, he looked like he belonged at the front of a lecture hall, all focused professionalism and curious enthusiasm. Emma waited until they were both settled before claiming her customary chair.

In stark contrast to Charles, Erik was a nervous wreck. She only noticed because she knew him so well--to anyone else, he would seem only stiffly seated, irritated rather than anxious. His back was ram-rod straight, and though he leaned towards Charles--only slightly--he seemed torn between sitting and standing. He was fidgeting; something Erik only did when he was particularly uncomfortable. It was nothing terribly obvious--the occasional twitch, muscles jumping as he made a visible effort to relax. Charles' reaction surprised her somewhat.

It was subtle, the way he shifted, leaning into Erik's shoulder, Erik instantly settling. His shoulders dropped several inches and the lines around his eyes faded into obscurity.

That was also interesting. She wouldn't have thought them so in tune, especially so early into their relationship. Emma turned her attention to Charles.

"I suggested Erik bring you here today, but I thought it might be nice if we could start with Erik telling us why he wants you here."

She was putting Erik on the spot, she knew--and under any other circumstance she would have avoided doing so--but she suspected Charles' presence would make him less inclined to skittishness; more inclined to honesty. She fully intended to take advantage of that.

The gamble paid off, because although Erik initially looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his expression soon hardened, resolve settling around his shoulders like a cloak. He glanced briefly at Charles and then cleared his throat.

"I wanted Charles to know what we were working on, because I don't want there to be any secrets between us."

Charles' reaction was somewhat telling, though not perhaps in the way Emma was expecting. He lit up like a Christmas tree, proud and fond and delighted, looking at Erik with such affection--such love--that the remainder of Emma's doubts melted away.

"We don't we start with your goals, Erik," Emma pressed, hoping to recapture his attention. He was staring at Charles with about the same dopey expression, the pair completely love struck. It struck something in Emma's chest. She had to fight to keep from smiling softly as she awaited his answer. They hadn't quite progressed this far in their solo sessions. She was hoping it was something he had considered.

Erik shook himself as soon as the question filtered through. He turned, frowning slightly while he worked out his answer. Emma waited patiently. Charles watched him intently.

"I want to be a better man."

"Oh, Erik," Charles said before Emma could respond. "You already are."

Had she said anything then, she was fairly certain it would have gone unheard, Erik turning to Charles, Charles capturing the whole of his attention.

"You know what I mean. I want the shit Shaw put into my head taken out. I want to be able to fuck you without..." he gestured broadly, "and I want to not get jealous whenever some guy looks at you. I want to sleep through the night without these stupid dreams, and I want to be able to spend the day away from you without..."

He trailed off then, colouring slightly as though only just realizing what he'd said. There was more, Emma knew. He was only just touching on his parents--and she was fairly certain his reoccurring dream related to their deaths--and there was still all his shared issues with Raven, not to mention the full scope of what Shaw had done to him. But he was coming along; one steady step at a time. Identifying the things he wanted to work on for Charles was a big step for him.

Charles, when Emma glanced over, looked dangerously close to climbing into Erik's lap and kissing him, so Emma cleared her throat. They both turned to glance in her direction.

"That was very good, Erik." Erik nodded, his expression turning proud. He wasn't used to praise, she knew. "But Charles is right when he says you don't have to change for him."

Charles hadn't actually said as much, though from his reaction the words were obviously on the tip of his tongue. He nodded vigorously when she said it, turning his attention back to Erik.

"You really don't. I rather think you're perfect."

She could tell Erik was set to argue, and while it might be interesting to watch them work this out, she had defined objectives for today's session.

"I think we can all agree that no one is perfect, and that everyone can benefit from a little self-analysis. That's largely what I do here; provide a framework for self-examination. I'm a psychiatrist, but I trained as a clinical psychologist first, and so I like to combine the two disciplines. My objective is to provide a safe environment in which Erik can address any issues that might impact his day to day life. This isn't about changing Erik, but rather, about allowing Erik to take full control of his past, present and future."

She didn't give these spiels often, but Charles seemed like the type to appreciate them. He nodded, and then leaned back into the couch, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle that instantly drew Emma's attention.

"In that case I should probably sign up myself."

"I think everyone can benefit from therapy, and if you are interested, I can make a recommendation. It would be a conflict of interest for me to take you on as a patient."

Charles looked slightly startled upon hearing that, like he wasn't entirely serious. Still, he nodded, and then glanced briefly to Erik, Emma pleased to note that Erik had no objections to the idea. She pressed forward.

"I'd also like to recommend looking into couples' counselling." They both swivelled to stare at her, twin sets of eyes glaring incredulity. Emma was quick to clarify. "I'm not saying I think either of you are in need of counselling, but I think it can be tremendously helpful, especially at the start of a major change, like marriage, or childbirth, or, in your case, cohabitation."

Erik was nodding now, which Emma took as a very good sign. Charles seemed more skeptical, but when Erik glanced over, he reluctantly inclined his head. Emma made a note to give them a referral on the way out the door. It was no guarantee they would go, nor was it a guarantee therapy would do anything for them if they did, but having met Charles--having seen Erik in Charles' presence--she was a lot more optimistic about their relationship than she was before this session. That alone made it a success.

She turned her attention back to Erik and asked, "Is there any issue in particular you would like to address today?"

Several minutes passed before he gave an answer.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to stlkrchck for the photographs used this chapter. And again, for all her general NY knowledge that I took complete advantage of.
> 
> A million thanks to Sam, whose notes on genetic lab life helped make this a little more realistic.
> 
> A billion thanks to afrocurl, for being my sounding board as well as my muse. And for her poetry; always for her poetry.
> 
> A billion thanks to palalife for the stunning art for this chapter. Thank you so much.
> 
> And finally, a heartfelt thank you to everyone who's read this story and commented on this story and enjoyed this story. It's been a privilege.

Charles was surprisingly efficient when it came to moving. Erik wasn't expecting it--Charles was made for languid afternoons and cluttered offices. _I don't have much stuff_ , he'd said on Thursday night when Erik had suggested they spend the night packing Charles' belongings.

He wasn't entirely right. He didn't have many things essential to living, like dishes and towels and sheets. He did have a lot of books--twelve boxes worth, to be exact. _We'll have to put a lot of this stuff in storage_ , Erik had said. _Just until we get a bigger place._ He'd spent the better part of Friday calling storage companies.

He'd managed to find a storage unit out in the Bronx that wasn't outrageously expensive, and while Charles had complained about the bother-- _I can just get rid of some stuff_ \--Erik had insisted on keeping the books. _You can't get rid of books._ Charles had smiled brightly then and stolen a kiss.

He'd been doing that a lot lately--smiling brightly, not stealing kisses, though Erik wouldn't have complained if he started doing the latter--ever since their joint session with Dr. Frost had ended with Erik proposing marriage and Charles gleefully accepting. And all right, [technically Erik had only confessed that he wanted them to spend the rest of their lives together and Charles had agreed with an enthusiastic nod of his head](http://palalife.tumblr.com/post/17410908991/inspired-by-loves-own-crown-chapter-20-by), but it amounted to the same thing in Erik's mind. Rings and ceremonies were just formalities.

Certainly the entire session seemed to have left Dr. Frost rather speechless, but then, Erik suspected that had more to do with them excluding her from the rest of their conversation. Erik would give anything to see her notes.

Charles was smiling now, though Erik was marginally disappointed that said smile was aimed at Moira and not him. He was doing a reasonably good job of keeping down the spike of jealousy that fluttered in his stomach at the sight of them; Charles leaned against the handrail that guarded the steps going into his building, Moira against the opposite wall. He suspected it was the hand on her belly--Charles had told him she was expecting--that stayed his possessiveness. He found himself wondering if she might someday consider acting as a surrogate.

He was getting ahead of himself--Dr. Frost had warned about that, around the same time she'd reiterated her point on couples' counselling. Erik still had the card in his coat pocket. He was game if Charles was; anything to ensure this thing between them lasted an eternity.

It was probably not the time to bring it up, though, Charles still talking to Moira, Erik charged with getting the first load of boxes into the truck. It still took effort to tear his gaze from Charles, Erik grabbing a box from the pile and then lugging it into the back of the rented U-Haul. He'd just jumped down off the deck when Azazel arrived, an obviously heavy box balanced in his arms.

"You boyfriend, he no pack light," he said, practically tossing the box--books, Erik knew immediately--into Erik's arms. Erik grunted, but said nothing as he turned and climbed back into the truck.

He had no idea how Raven had convinced Azazel to spend his Saturday helping Charles move, especially when she was busy at the [MUD open house](http://www.nekosmuse.com/mud.jpg). Charles had conned Hank and Moira's fiancé into helping, too, so the transfer from apartment to truck was going relatively smoothly.

There was no one waiting for him when he climbed off the truck this time, so Erik headed over to where Charles and Moira were still deep in conversation. Erik slid neatly between them, thrilling at how quickly he earned Charles' attention. Charles smiled; a contented grin that crinkled his eyes and made him look impossibly boyish. Erik couldn't stop himself from swooping in for a kiss.

"You want me to run a few loads?" Charles offered when Erik pulled back, but Erik merely shook his head--someone had to distract Moira otherwise she would be right in the thick of it, hauling boxes despite her condition. She'd complained fiercely when Sean had objected to her lifting anything, but Hank and Charles had taken his side and now they were taking turns distracting her.

Erik suspected she'd only agreed to keep Charles from fretting. The longer Erik knew Moira, the more he was starting to like her.

"I'm okay," Erik said, stealing another kiss before he moved around to climb the stairs, letting his fingers trail over Charles' shoulder as he passed. He met Sean in the hall, who was coming down with a couple of boxes, Erik pressing against the wall to make room.

Upstairs, Hank and Azazel were trying to get Charles' mattress through his apartment door.

"Tilt it to your right," Erik said, better poised to work out the angle. Azazel, at least, was quick to obey, Hank following suit a minute later, the mattress passing smoothly through the doorway.

"The highest reward for a person's toil is not what they get for it, but what they become by it," Hank said. It took Erik several seconds to figure out why it sounded familiar.

"Ruskin." The look Hank gave him was as startled as it was pleased.

"Yes. Are you familiar with his work?" It marked the first time Hank had looked at him with anything other than leery uncertainty.

Erik chuckled. "Only his poetry," he said, which seemed to be enough for Hank, Hank brightening considerably.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Azazel cleared his throat, a reminder that they were still holding a relatively heavy mattress. Hank's expression turned apologetic, Erik nodding even as he shifted to the side, letting them pass. For the longest time after they disappeared down the stairs, Erik stood in the hall outside Charles' apartment door. It occurred to him that for the first time in his life, he was on the cusp of making friends. It was a startling realization, but one that left him feeling oddly displaced.

It wasn't until he heard a familiar tread on the stairs--Charles--that the emotion settled into place. It became a steady contentment that Erik couldn't remember having ever felt. He turned to watch Charles ascend, Erik lifting an eyebrow when he came into view.

"Sean's entertaining Moira," Charles said. He reached Erik's side, pressing up on toes to nuzzle against Erik's cheek, lips ghosting across Erik's cheekbone. "I was sent in to rescue you."

Erik laughed at that. He hadn't been gone that long. "Is that so?"

Charles grinned. "Okay, technically I arranged my own search party, and mostly so that I could get you alone."

That sounded a little more feasible, not to mention agreeable, so Erik reached down to grab Charles' hand, tugging until Charles followed him into the apartment.

He intended to close the door behind them, press Charles up against it and see if they couldn't get in a quickie, but as soon as they were inside, Charles' eyes dimmed, his expression growing oddly sad as he took in the now mostly bare apartment.

Erik stepped back, letting Charles navigate the empty space. He walked to the centre of the room turning in a full circle as his gaze swept over the apartment. Bare cupboards, their doors propped open, sat above the kitchen counter, cleared now of everything save a roll of packing tape and a Styrofoam coffee cup. The carpet was littered in bits of foam from packing peanuts, the once shag weighed down by the press of feet, divots worn where Charles' furniture had sat. Empty homes always felt so hollow; bigger too, like the space had grown in size. 

"I've had this apartment since I moved to New York," Charles said. Erik swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, only half listening as a memory slotted into place. He shook it aside, cardboard boxes and a pristine white moving van vanishing, along with rush of icy water. Now was not the time for that revelation, however important--however much it explained his dream. He could hardly interrupt Charles' musings to say, _We were moving. The day my parents died._ There was time enough for that later.

"I'm not pushing you, am I?" he asked, the last thing he wanted to say, but he was worried now that he had somehow manipulated Charles into moving in with him; that maybe Charles wasn't ready.

Charles turned to face him, startled. His expression shifted the second he caught Erik's eye, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"And here I thought I was conning you into letting me move in."

It instantly displaced Erik's concern, frown shifting into a grin as he reached for Charles, pulling him close.

"We should really give the place a proper goodbye," he said, rolling their hips together. He'd made a lot of good memories inside this apartment.

Charles' smile grew teeth. He pushed into the sensation, not stopping until he had Erik backed against the door--exactly where Erik had wanted Charles only a moment before.

"You know, that might be the best idea I've heard all day. Besides, I'm supposed to keep you up here for a while; Scott and Logan turned up to help."

That was the last thing Erik wanted to hear, but Charles' mouth had settled against his neck, distracting him nicely. Erik was more than willing to hide upstairs while Charles' ex was left to finish loading the truck. Erik was, after all, getting the better end of the deal.

~*~

_Epilogue: December 10, 2011_

Charles rooted through his dresser, searching for the pair of cufflinks he knew he owned. They were a present from his mother--one of the few things she had deigned to give him--on his sixteenth birthday. Sixteen was apparently an important age; far more than eighteen, or twenty-one, or even his numerous graduations, all of which passed without so much as a phone call. They had belonged to his father and until now Charles had never had occasion to wear them. Moira's wedding seemed a fitting event for breaking them in.

Except he had no idea what he'd done with the things.

His bottom drawer seemed the most likely candidate, Charles rooting through mementos--all Erik's now--in a bid to find them. Erik's binder of poems now lived in their office, but Charles' father's binder still occupied a place of honour. He couldn't imagine having tucked them somewhere inside, but it was possible, so Charles pulled the binder out and set it on top of the dresser.

There were recent additions to it. Anything related to the estate, the legal proceedings, or Kurt's impending trial were now in there, along with a letter from the ESHG outlining the steps taken against Essex. He'd had his license temporarily suspended and was under review. Apparently Charles' wasn't the only one with a complaint. There was also a printed out article from the [London Times website](http://nekosmuse.com/shaw.jpg), the only object that didn't belong to Charles. Charles wasn't sure how Erik would feel about him having kept it, but it seemed significant, and there was a chance Erik might one day want a copy. If not, Erik wasn't the type to snoop, so he'd never see it.

He found the cufflinks inside a small envelope, stapled to a sheet of paper and stuffed into the middle of the binder. Charles had no idea why he'd thought to do that--though he was glad now that he had. He tore the envelope from the page, ripped it open and dumped the cufflinks into the palm of his hand. They were just as [pretentious as he remembered](http://www.nekosmuse.com/cuff.jpg). His mother must have chosen them. Perhaps that's why she gave them to him; she didn't want them to go to waste.

He took a few minutes to put his drawer back together before leaving the bedroom, Charles navigating the sea of boxes that was their apartment, tie hanging open around his neck as he sought out Erik. He found him in the kitchen, slipping plates into cardboard sleeves.

"Erik, the place doesn't close for another ten days. We might need dishes before then."

Erik glanced up, startled and a little sheepish. "I was thinking we could just eat out," he said. Charles rolled his eyes, because the last thing he wanted was ten days of restaurant food when he could have Erik's. He crossed to Erik's side, taking a plate from his hand and sticking it back into the cupboard.

"What is it our therapist says?"

"It's not a race to the finish line," Erik answered immediately, but he looked frustrated, like he wanted this to be a race; like he wanted to simply skip ahead to getting settled in their new brownstone. Charles chuckled.

It was Erik's enthusiasm that saw them buying a brownstone that closed a few days before Christmas--not that the holiday meant much to either of them, but it certainly made planning a move difficult. It didn't help that LeBeau hadn't finalized the transfer of Charles' estate. It would be months before the money was officially his.

"Exactly," Charles said, grabbing Erik's hands and bringing them to his collar--distracting Erik was always the best way to stop Erik from charging on ahead when he would be better served by slowing down. These days Charles had mastered reigning Erik in; and it was quickly becoming apparent that such things were necessary.

"I just hate waiting," Erik said, even as he deftly looped Charles' bowtie. When he was finished, he ran his hands down over Charles' vest, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. Charles handed him the cufflinks, along with a wrist.

"Just a little bit longer," Charles said, resisting the urge to point out how far they'd already come. It had been a chaotic month, filled with house hunting and legal dealings and formal complaints and more therapy sessions than Charles would have thought possible, not to mention the wedding planning.

 _Promise me we can elope_ , Erik had said one night, face buried in Charles' neck after a long day of tux and dress shopping. He'd tensed shortly after, as though only realizing what he'd said, but Charles had chuckled and nipped at his chin, saying, _Of course_ and Erik's tension had drained. After, they'd traded messy hand jobs before falling asleep, the following morning spent sampling tiny squares of cake while Moira fretted over shoes.

While Erik fastened Charles' cuffs, Charles walked them backwards out of the kitchen, so that by the time they were done they were already standing next to their coats. Charles handed Erik his, and then shrugged into his own.

Erik was right about one thing; it would be nice when they finally got settled, the apartment was a scene of utter chaos. Raven fretted about it nightly, though she'd claimed a corner for her Christmas tree--a tiny thing so battered it no longer resembled an actual tree, though when Charles had offered to replace it, she'd shaken her head fiercely and told him it had sentimental value. So, too, apparently, did the tiny blue and silver ornaments Charles suspected someone had bought at a gas station. Still, he didn't question it after that, leaving Raven to her tree. It made an interesting compliment to the menorah that sat in the dining room window.

"Are we ready?" Charles asked once he'd checked pockets for wallet and keys. Erik nodded, looping a scarf around his neck before smoothing his hair. He looked good enough to eat, but Charles knew they'd never make it in time for the ceremony if he caved to that impulse.

They had Moira's car, because Moira had arranged a limo, Raven with her, Moira's make-up undoubtedly taking the entire morning--although Raven had practiced on her twice this week, latex gloves apparently going a long way towards easing her discomfort with touching people. _It's not so bad when it's a woman_ , she'd said, shrugging, but she'd done Charles' make-up several times since he'd moved in, and Erik's twice, so she was slowly working past that block. Now if only Charles could convince her to accept money for school.

One step at a time; that was what their couples' counselor was always telling them. It was sound advice, so much so that Charles had started employing it in the lab, too, his and Hank's research moving steadily along without the need for constant all-nighters.

"Do we have time?" Erik asked as they climbed into the car. Charles didn't need to ask for what; he simply glanced at his watch and then nodded.

"A quick drive by," he said. Erik grinned and then started the car.

They didn't drive by their new brownstone every day, but it was damned close, and Charles knew Erik jogged by it whenever he was out. _I've never owned real estate before_ , he'd said, though Charles had had to remind him that, technically, the bank owned the house; they owned the mortgage. Impending inheritance aside, Erik had insisted they take out a mortgage with monthly payments they could split down the middle. The bank had been more than happy to take their interest payments, especially upon seeing Charles' name.

The threat of winter hadn't manifested, the weather having turned warm in these last few weeks, making it feel less like December and more like October. Charles wasn't complaining, because the lack of snow certainly made getting around the city easier. He rolled down his window as they drove, letting in some fresh air, feeling oddly excited about Moira's impending wedding.

The brownstone wasn't quite Charles Street, which Erik had obsessed over during their search, but it was in the same general neighbourhood. Erik slowed to a crawl as they approached the place, [coming to a stop just outside](http://www.nekosmuse.com/brownstone.jpg).

"We don't have time for that," Charles said when it seemed like Erik might get out of the car. He was fairly certain by this point the current owners--who still lived in the place--thought they were stalkers. If Erik had his way, they'd knock on the door every day and ask for a tour.

Erik didn't say anything, but he reluctantly grunted, staring out the window with a soft smile on his face. He kept them there for several minutes before he pulled away from the curb, merging back into the stream of traffic--sparse though it was--pointing them in the direction of the Russian Tea Room. They had twenty minutes before Moira started freaking out. Traffic pending, they ought to make it on time.

~*~

This marked, Erik realized, the first wedding he had ever attended. It was nicer than he was expecting--certainly nicer than the weeks of work had suggested it would be. The ceremony was over, dinner cleared away and the reception in full swing. Moira had hired a band; they were playing horrible top-40 music with an eclectic collection of instruments, including a synthesizer. Erik winced at a particularly off-key note, and then turned his attention back to the dance floor.

The bride and groom were the centre of attention, but there were a smattering of couples around them, Erik surprised to find Raven and Azazel among them. They were standing far closer than Erik would have expected, Azazel's hand draped around Raven's waist, Raven's face tilted up towards him. She'd changed her hair again--only recently, so Erik still wasn't used to it. The bob was still there, but now her locks were chestnut, the colour befitting the change in season, she'd said. She laughed at something Azazel said and let him spin her.

Feeling like he was intruding, Erik glanced away.

He spotted Charles across the room, talking to Scott and Logan, which still rather rankled, however much they were making progress on his jealousy. Erik exhaled, counted to ten and then turned his attention elsewhere. It was somewhat of a surprise to find Hank heading towards him.

It was even more of a surprise to find Erik was eager for his company.

He wouldn't call Hank a friend--not yet--but he was certainly the closest thing Erik had ever had, aside from Charles and Raven, of course. A shared love of literature--and Charles, though in entirely different ways--would do that, he supposed. Erik offered a genuine smile.

"They're terrible, aren't they?" Hank said, gesturing to the band. Erik lifted his glass.

"At least they haven't started in on the 1980s cover tunes." Erik wasn't sure he wanted to relive anything from that decade, especially the music.

Hank laughed, settling in at Erik's side to watch Sean guiding Moira through something Erik suspected was meant to be a waltz. 

"I've always been fond of Emerson, myself," Hank said, a continuation of their last conversation--four days old by this point.

"That's because you're an essayist and I'm a poet, so while I can appreciate Emerson's contribution to the art, I tend to find him too analytical for true poetic beauty."

"Also, you're completely biased against American poets," Hank said. Erik laughed; that, at least, was true.

The conversation got lively after that, time slipping by so that by the time Charles appeared at his side, the band had migrated to slow songs, the dance floor now filled with swaying couples. It was no longer surprising to find Raven and Azazel among them.

"Sorry, Hank," Charles said, "but I'm afraid I have to steal him."

He didn't wait for a reply, tugging on Erik's hand until Erik either had to leave or lose the limb. He didn't mind, though, the thought of dancing with Charles igniting something in his gut that simmered nicely as Erik followed Charles onto the dance floor. Once there, Charles extended a hand, but Erik ignored it, pulling Charles close so that they could dance like the horny teenagers they weren't. Charles didn't seem inclined to complain.

"This has been nice," Charles said. Erik let his hand dip a little lower, until his fingertips skirted the swell of Charles' ass, pulling slightly until Charles was flush against him.

"It was," Erik agreed.

He was doing that a lot these days; enjoying himself. A year ago he wouldn't have been able to picture it. Now he was doing a lot of things he would have never pictured himself doing, including casting around for the nearest restroom. He pulled back long enough to catch Charles' eye, nodding him towards it. Charles' grin turned predatory.

Erik still took perverse delight in bending to Charles' ear and whispering, "I've been dying to fuck you all night."

Charles' grin slipped, expression going slack with lust. At the very least, their couples' counselling had been good for one thing, and if the way Charles was tugging on Erik's hand was any indication, Charles practically dragging Erik from the room, then Charles agreed.

Erik still found it necessary to stage an active demonstration. Charles didn't seem inclined to complain about that either.

Hours later, when the reception came to a close, the last stragglers stumbling drunkenly into cabs, Erik took Charles' hand, the one that had for the first few weeks of their relationship been obscured by a splint, and led him outside. The sky above Manhattan was oddly clear, the usual haze of pollution and light displaced by a cold front, a scattering of tiny stars visible beyond the towering buildings. Erik stared up, inhaling the sharp December air. This, he imagined, was the closest he would ever come to peace.

It didn't surprise him in the least that Charles stood at his side.

  


_so long  
illusive_  


  
_now  
stands_   


  
_waiting,  
inviting_   


  
_bringing  
serenity  
tranquility_   


  
_calm._   


  
_with You  
it is  
no longer_   


  
_the elusive  
but confirmed_   


  
_understood._   


  
[Peace, by Erik Lehnsherr, December 10th, 2011](http://archiveofourown.org/works/289041/chapters/543512)   


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just Part of Some Giant Grand Machine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/289041) by [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl)




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